


let us not talk falsely now

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [57]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:59:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 33,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7505725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine if Jamie was a wounded soldier and Claire a combat nurse who met in a field hospital during the Vietnam War. Related ficlets written for Imagine Claire & Jamie on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/147346316452/hey-can-we-having-something-to-do-with-claire-and) on tumblr

original prompt: Hey! Can we having something to do with Claire and Jamies back? Like her tracing the scars or helping him after he is flogged in DIA? :)  

* * *

 

“It’s raining again. Can you believe it?”

Claire looked up from her steaming mug of what the Captain insisted was coffee. It tasted more like sour water.

“It’s ‘Nam, Mary. It rains here every day. You’ve been here what, six months now - haven’t you noticed?”

Nurse Hawkins shrugged, still focusing on her letter. She wrote her beau - a pastor back in Savannah - every day. Drew little hearts on the back of the envelope and everything.

Claire had been here for nine months - and in that time, had received exactly one telegram from her husband.

AM WELL STOP CAN’T SHARE MY LOCATION OR ORDERS STOP WILL LET YOU KNOW WHEN STATESIDE STOP FRANK

She still had it - folded between the pages of the Bible a young soldier - now dead - had given her, insisting she send it back to his mother. Claire had never been particularly religious, but something about young Alexander MacGregor - and his faith, even to the last moments of his life - had struck a chord in her.

Maybe because she was knee-deep in death all the time - sweating so much during a surgery sometimes that she feared the drops would fall into the soldier’s open body. Or perhaps it was that she was so far from home, doing what she thought - knew - was right, despite the mind-numbing drudgery and the heat and the cardboard food and the starvation wages.

Or maybe - just maybe - it was that she just craved simple human contact. A kind, loving word - not even from the husband who most days she forgot existed.

“I never see you writing letters to your husband.”

Claire leaned her face on her hands, turning her head to look outside the tent. Rain roared on the canvas.

“I don’t know where he is. And it’s not like with you and Alex - Frank and I have been married for quite some time now. We’re…settled.”

“That sounds so boring!” Mary folded the lined paper, kissed the top of it, and neatly slid it into the envelope. “He’s waiting for me, you know - he wants our union to be blessed by God.”

Claire pressed her lips together to prevent saying something rude, or unintentionally hurtful. Numb as she was to almost all feeling - and to her surroundings more generally - she didn’t immediately react when the sirens blared through the field hospital.

“Choppers!” Mary sprang up from the wobbly table, tucking her precious letter into her front pocket. “Come on, Claire!”

Claire sighed, rolled her shoulders, and reached for her raincoat.

—–

“Nurse Randall! I could use a little help down here!”

Claire wiped her dripping brow with one shirtsleeve, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light. Twenty casualties had streamed in over the past two hours - some with broken bones, but others with horrific wounds. A platoon had come upon an entire village that had been booby-trapped - and to hear the commander tell the tale, a full third of the men had not survived the initial explosions.

She wove between the row of doctors huddled over their operating tables, seeing men cut open in various parts of their bodies. Exposed organs - shattered bones - and blood, so much blood.

“Dr. Abernathy?”

Boston Joe briefly turned away from his patient - laying face down on the table - to nod at her. “Good. Help me, please? Charlie nailed this poor bastard pretty hard.”

Claire stepped beside the doctor - and for the first time in a long time, the sight of a wounded man made her feel ill.

For this man’s back was…hamburger. No skin was left - all the muscle and tendons were exposed. Shrapnel - big ugly hunks of metal, small shapes which looked like screws and nails - and dirt, so much dirt, crusted over it all.

“What happened?” She heard her voice - quiet, shocked. Was that truly her?

“Platoon leader. He saw the hut was full of land mines and turned away - but it was too late. Landed on two of his men and saved them, if you can believe that.”

Beneath her surgical mask, Claire licked her lips, feeling her heart stutter.

“Damn hero,” she muttered.

“Claire?” Joe’s voice was patient but insistent. “I’ll need your help picking all this crap out. He’s lost a lot of blood. Nurse MacNab has him on a lot of morphine - but I want to get him out of here and into recovery stat. Can you help me do that?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

So she picked up her tweezers and bent to her work, praying that the young man was dreaming of home - a beautiful place - anyplace but here.

—–

It took four hours, but finally they had gotten all the shrapnel out. Doused the entire back with disinfectant, wrapped him in sterile bandages, and then hoisted him onto a gurney. He’d remained asleep the whole time, thankfully - though Claire knew he’d be in for a long, arduous recovery.

Miraculously the rest of his body had been relatively unscathed - though his back would be a web of scar tissue for the rest of his life.

She’d scrubbed and then assisted with a few more patients afterwards - simple things, compared to the young man - a few burns and toe amputations. But for the whole rest of her shift she hadn’t been able to shake the young man from her mind.

Was it the tragedy that would befall him when he woke? The bit of tartan spilling out of his back pocket - clearly some kind of good-luck rag? The red of his buzz cut, glowing merrily below the harsh lights of the operating room?

Or was it the thought that all the people in the world who cared about him - mother, father, sister, brother, sweetheart - had no idea just how gravely he had been injured?

So after stripping off her scrubs and showering, she’d slipped into the recovery ward. Looking for him.

Fortunately she’d glanced at his chart before the orderlies had wheeled him away. Captain James Fraser - a Marine - Catholic - blood type B-. From North Carolina.

She’d never been - but wagered that it had to be a beautiful place.

Beauly - Duncan - Evans - Fraser.

He was at the end of the row, laying face down, his back a mess of bandages, right hand hooked up to a morphine drip.

He’d kicked the blanket off of his legs - and she bent, gently folding it over him.

What was it about him? Did she feel pity for his situation? Admiration for his bravery and sacrifice? Christ, this morning she didn’t even know he existed -

He groaned - he was awake.

Claire crouched down beside him - and saw his face for the first time.

Strong cheekbones. Long, fair eyelashes. A wide, sweet mouth.

Brow contorted in pain.

“Sshh. It’s all right. You’re in the hospital, being cared for.”

Suddenly his eyes opened - gaze wide - eyes darting - nostrils flared.

“It’s all right,” Claire repeated. “You’re alive. You’re at the 91st Evacuation Hospital in Chu Lai. You’re safe.”

Then his gaze settled on her - focusing on her.

And his mouth broke into a face-splitting grin. He  breathed in and out three times.

“*Mo nighean donn,*” he rasped.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/148451802614/like-roger-the-stones-give-jamie-a-glimpse-of) on tumblr

Claire knelt to be eye level with Captain Fraser.

“I’m sorry?”

He swallowed, and shifted his eyes to hers. Blue - pupils dilated wide. Then said those same, strange words again.

His voice was so desperate - and tinged with pain.

“I’m sorry, Captain - I don’t understand you. But here - you must be thirsty. Have some water.”

She brought the plastic cup on his bedside table closer to his face, and adjusted the straw so that he could take a drink. He sipped slowly, eyes still locked on her.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” she said quietly, mindful of the other sleeping patients. “We had to operate on your back for four hours to get all the shrapnel out. It’s too dangerous to evac you to another hospital - we have to keep you under observation - but you’re safe here.”

Captain Fraser turned his head away from the straw, and Claire set the now-empty cup back on the table. She watched his back - under its thick layer of bandages - rise and fall rapidly.

“Your men - they survived. They’re here - a few minor injuries - but they survived.”

He made a half-strangled sound - and then his face split into the most beautiful smile she had ever seen.

More foreign words fell from his lips - but the tone of excitement was unmistakable.

She smiled sadly - his body may be healing, but his brain had clearly been affected by the trauma. He truly believed that his words were real language - but it was certainly no language she had ever heard.

So she let him speak for a while - and then as his eyes began to droop, rose to check his morphine drip.

And held back a scream as his hand darted out to grab her leg.

“What the - ”

But when she looked down at him, the terror in his eyes went beyond language. *Don’t leave me alone,* he plead silently. *I am confused and in pain and I can’t be left alone here.*

She pasted on her best Nurse Randall smile. “Don’t worry, Captain - I’ll be gone just a short while. I’ll bring back one of our doctors - we’ve been waiting for you to wake up to do some acuity tests.”

He squeezed her leg - and gently drew one long finger slowly down the back of her knee.

And then withdrew his hand and feigned sleep.

Flooded with a sudden urge to bend down and feel the rasp of his red buzz cut against the backs of her knuckles, Claire yanked her hand behind her back and strode purposefully to the door.

—–

“All right - that’s good. Now tell me how many fingers.”

Captain Fraser squinted. Claire had given him another pillow so that he could prop up a bit on his elbows - but his back was still immobilized.

“Cay-uh.”

Dr. Abernathy frowned at the four fingers he had extended toward the gurney. “Can you please repeat that?”

Captain Fraser sighed, exasperated. “Cay-uh.”

Claire stood by the curtain of the makeshift examination room, scribbling on the soldier’s chart.

“And which state are you from, Captain?”

“North Carolina.” *That* one was clear as a bell.

“And from which country, or countries, did your ancestors come?”

“Alba.”

“Alba? Where’s that?”

“*Alba*,” the captain repeated, reaching to help himself to more water.

Almost thirty questions in now. Boston Joe had tested the captain’s motor skills, and the man had passed with flying colors. Physically he was fine, healing. And clearly he was mentally capable as well - save for the fact that he seemed to be speaking gibberish.

But “Alba” wasn’t gibberish - Claire had learned as much from a fellow nurse, back in training.

“Scotland,” she said softly.

Captain Fraser tried - and failed - to face her. But when he next spoke, she knew he was smiling again.

“Alba!” he exclaimed. “Alba!”

“Scotland,” she repeated. “Your family came from Scotland to North Carolina. And they taught you the ancestral language, didn’t they?”

He nodded vigorously.

“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” Joe sat back in his chair, arms crossed, shaking his head. “So let me get this straight - you speak Scottish and English.”

“*Gaidhlig,*” Captain Fraser corrected.

“Gallic. Whatever.” Joe sighed, tilting his head at the younger man, considering.

“My honest assessment, Captain Fraser, is that physically and mentally you’re fine - aside from your back, of course. And I’ve heard before about patients whose brains temporarily switch over from one language to another, after suffering great physical trauma.”

Claire knew she should have been taking notes - but she’d quietly stepped behind Dr. Abernathy so that she could watch Captain Fraser’s face.

His eyes were open - patient, listening. Breath steady. And watching her.

“I don’t think it will be permanent - but I’d still like to consult one of my colleagues at another hospital. He’s a neurologist - can provide a better prognosis. But that will take a few days, and in the meantime I want you to rest up and focus on healing that back. OK?

Captain Fraser nodded, pressing his lips together as the small motion undoubtedly unleashed a fresh wave of pain through his back.

"Nurse Randall - up his dosage a bit, and then wheel him back to recovery, all right? I’ll be in my office - we can finish his report together.”

This was why Boston Joe was a good egg - he knew Claire had aspirations to attend medical school, and always found opportunities to explain his process to her - and, in this case, even give her a chance to help complete the report.

“OK, boss. I’ll take care of this one.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, soldier. Rest up.”

Captain Fraser gave a terse nod - and Joe rose, pulled back the curtain, and returned to his office down the hall.

Claire sat in the chair Joe had vacated, head bent, finishing up her notes.

Captain Fraser spoke again - his voice soft, the syllables foreign yet calm. Soothing.

She couldn’t help but look up and watch him watch her, the words pouring from his lips.

“What are you saying?”

His eyes bored into hers. She felt naked, exposed.

And yet - safe.

He licked his lips - but continued. She had never really heard the language before - but it was beautiful. Strange, different - but beautiful.

Or was it only the way he was saying the words that made it beautiful?

Claire’s cheeks flushed, and she returned her eyes to her notes. No. She had to focus on her task. She couldn’t get too attached to this man - or any other man. Not here, not now.

Not ever.

A soft, soft touch at her knee, right below the hem of her skirt.

She gasped from surprise. He gasped from pain - from the effort to make such a gesture.

“Captain Fraser - ”

“Jamie.”

She blinked - captivated by the intensity of his eyes.

“What?”

“*Jamie,*” he said again, thumb gently tracing the bumps of her knee.

She couldn’t let him do this.

She didn’t want him to stop.

So she held her breath, and dared.

“Claire,” she whispered.

“Claire.” Never had her name been said so reverently.

Never had a simple smile stoked the dying embers of her heart.

Never had she not given a damn about the consequences.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/148840557496/i-really-enjoyed-the-vietnam-war-claire-and-jamie) on tumblr

That night, as she sweat under the scratchy blankets of her lumpy cot, watching the moldy blades of the ceiling fan slowly sweep around and around in a failing attempt to cool the room – Claire’s skin still burned from Captain Fraser’s touch.

From Jamie’s touch.

It had only been seconds – he’d snatched his hand away when footsteps approached his bed.

“Nurse Randall!” Mary Hawkins had briefly turned to glance at Jamie on the bed before coming to a stop directly beside Claire. “There you are. We just got the call – choppers are coming. Better scrub up now, we don’t know how many wounded there are.”

Claire had nodded absently, pressing her lips together. “Thank you, Nurse Hawkins. Tell the doctors I’ll be right there – just finishing up something on Captain Fraser’s chart.”

Mary, bless her, had been oblivious to the obvious tension, and with a quick nod had turned on her pretty heel and swished back down the aisle of beds toward the OR.

Claire had taken a deep breath and shifted her eyes to meet Jamie’s.

They were so blue – the pupils dilated wide in awe.

And desire?

She then cleared her throat. “I must be going.” Her voice was quiet – but she bravely met his gaze.

He had licked his lips, and then spoken again in Gaelic.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t understood a word – for she knew exactly what he was saying.

*Thank you. Be careful. I’ll be here when you’re done.*

She hadn’t stopped by to say goodnight – not even after four hours of back-breaking surgery. Two brave men had died on the operating table tonight. Their wounds were far less extensive than Jamie’s – but then again, they didn’t all have his stubbornness or his iron constitution.

*Stop it, Beauchamp. You *can’t* be thinking this way. No way in hell can you develop feelings for this man. You’re married, for Christ’s sake.*

She hadn’t stopped by to say goodnight because she was afraid that, even in her sweaty, blood-spattered scrubs, she would want to just sit by him, watch him sleep, and listen to him speak in that strange, beautiful language.

Four feet away in the next cot, Nurse Graham began to snore.

Claire curled onto her side, kicked off her blanket, and dug the cool, hard metal of Frank’s wedding ring into the side of her arm.

Forcing herself to remember her promises to the man she hadn’t seen – hadn’t thought of – in months.

Forcing images of mist-filled mountains, cool pine forests, and rustic log cabins from her mind.

—

Over the next three days, she had visited him once in the morning and once in the evening. Updating his chart, refilling his morphine drip, checking his wounds to ensure that no infection was brewing.

Just the same level of care as any other nurse would provide.

But why did she insist on making all of his checks? Even if it meant she also had to check on the injured men resting beside him – the type of work she’d always shied away from in the past?

It was his genuine joy at seeing her, every single time.

How he said her name – with such reverence.

How he said thank you (*Tang do-it* - she’d been able to decipher that much) – every time.

And, if she was being perfectly honest – how he’d always reached for a small, quick touch.

She normally preferred pants – but hadn’t worn them since he’d arrived.

She hadn’t encouraged him – but then again, she hadn’t exactly *discouraged* him. She’d made it a point to check on him with her left hand, so that he could see Frank’s small, gold band. But she’d never brought it up – and she certainly couldn’t understand what he was saying, had he tried to ask her about it.

There was no telling how long he’d be here at Chu Lai – his back was still so fragile that the risk of transportation was too great. Unlike most of the other soldiers, who could be med-evaced out to another location farther from the front lines, he couldn’t. Which was why it had taken so long for the neurologist to chopper in all the way from Saigon for an exam.

All the way from Saigon, Boston Joe had said. No way the Marines would spring for that for just anybody.

Who *was* James Fraser?

And why did he make her feel more – more excitement, more simple happiness, more like a woman – than Frank ever had?

But she pushed all those thoughts from her mind as she finished her checks on a dozing Corporal MacKenzie and finally stepped around the next bed to greet Jamie.

He had heard her checking on Angus – a man with a dour disposition and a number of broken ribs, having been hit by a projectile that he swore was Charlie’s poor imitation of a cannonball – but couldn’t turn to face her, as his back was still covered in bandages. She knew he knew she was there – he had been fidgeting, hands clenching as they hung off the bed.

“Good morning, Captain Fraser.”

Such formality was imperative in the presence of the other men, especially when they were awake. But she so wished it wasn’t necessary.

His head tilted so that he could meet her eyes – teeth flashing in a broad smile. “Maddin math,” he rasped, voice rough with sleep.

“Any discomfort during the night – more than the usual?”

She picked up the chart hanging from the foot of his bed and leaned over to check his bandages.

She knew he would reach to touch her knee – and he did.

Warm. Gentle.

“It’s scabbing over nicely – and there’s no drainage.”

His fingers started to caress the tender skin behind her knee.

“I think we can take the bandages off in a few days – I’ll need to make a full examination of the skin, make sure that there’s definitely nothing left in there.”

Fire raced up her leg – warmth flooded her chest.

She rested one hand on the top of his arm as she sat in the creaky chair beside him – not caressing, but just touching.

“Claire,” he whispered.

She swallowed. “You’ll be here for the foreseeable future – it’s too risky to move you, with your back the way it is. It’s so hot and humid and there are so many tropical diseases you could catch. And then there’s the matter of your speech.”

He spoke – it sounded like a question.

“There’s a doctor coming all the way up from Saigon today to check you out. Apparently what’s happened to you is extremely rare – the guy coming is an Army neurologist. He’ll probably want to do some tests.”

She slid her hand down his arm and bravely took his hand. Her thumb ran over the bumpy knuckles, then caressed the callouses on his palm. So he was a soldier – but also likely a farmer.

He laced their fingers together. So confident.

Now was her chance.

She glanced behind her – Private Coulter was still asleep.

Her heart clenched – ready to be broken.

“Jamie – I – I can’t do this.”

His eyes widened in fear. “Claire – ”

“It’s not you – it’s me. I’m married. I can’t allow myself to feel anything – I can’t feel anything for you.”

“No!” he hissed.

Shocked into English?

“No. No, Claire,” he repeated.

Then more Gaelic – urgent, deliberate. Their fingers squeezed so tightly that she feared he would break one of her bones.

She shook her head – no longer feeling the need to breathe. For she had to put this fantasy to an end.

“I wish I could understand you,” she whispered.

“Claire,” he beseeched. “Claire.”

“Jamie – ”

The door at the other end of the ward slammed shut – then bootsteps in the aisle.

Quickly she rose and dropped Jamie’s hand, turning to face –

“Nurse Randall? Dr. Ned Gowan. I understand you’ve been caring for someone that I would very much like to meet.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/149605927240/imagine-claire-taking-jamie-through-the-stones-and) on tumblr

original prompt: Imagine Claire taking Jamie through the stones and ordering a battery of vaccines and tests and doctors are shocked by his medical history and the scars on his back  

* * *

 

Claire extended a hand toward the visitor.

“Dr. Gowan – so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about your work.”

The doctor – a bespectacled, older gentleman carrying a battered satchel – doffed his cap.

“The pleasure is all mine, Nurse Randall. And I’m pleasantly surprised that you’ve heard of my work.”

Claire smiled kindly, noticing the mud splattered on the neurosurgeon’s olive trousers. “Well, reading your studies of the impact of combat injuries on the cerebellum are an interesting way to spend the time here at Chu Lai. We’re a bit short on other forms of entertainment.”

Dr. Gowan shook his head. “Well then – I’m impressed. And as for our soldier here – Joe told me a bit about him, but perhaps you can fill in the details?”

“Of course. Can you help me wheel him to one of the examination rooms? I don’t want to disturb the other patients.”

And a few moments later they had carefully guided Jamie’s bed to the room adjoining the doctors’ offices. Dr. Gowan had politely introduced himself to Jamie – who had gripped his hand and whispered something in return – and now in the spare room, he pulled up a wheeled stool directly to Jamie’s side.

“…and it seems to be some kind of dysphasia, as he’s lost the ability to speak English. But he hasn’t lost his ability to speak Gaelic – and he can understand English perfectly well. His back is healing well – no infection – so I doubt the injury is contributing to the condition.”

Dr. Gowan glanced up as Joe Abernathy padded into the room and sat behind the desk, but proceeded with his examination of Jamie’s vitals.

“That’s good – move your eyes to the left. Now to the right. Splendid.”

He jotted down his observations in a dog-eared notebook, so worn from use its shape had conformed to the angles of his battered satchel.

“Now – Captain Fraser. Tell me about your family.”

Jamie furrowed his brow, but began to speak.

And spoke, eyes darting between Dr. Gowan and Dr. Abernathy – but always returning to Claire. Short, quick. Piercing her heart.

After a while he paused, glancing to Claire. She recognized need when she saw it, and quickly rose to help him sip a cup of water.

“Hu chen-na?”

Joe, Claire, and Jamie’s heads swiveled to Dr. Gowan.

Jamie coughed in shock.

“Hu chen-na?” Dr. Gowan repeated.

“You never told me you spoke Gaelic, Ned!” Joe exclaimed. “You could have saved us a lot of trouble – ”

To Claire’s surprise, the older man blushed. “Oh no no no, I don’t really *speak* the language. My great-granddad immigrated from Edinburgh, and taught me a few words when I was small. I just asked Captain Fraser about his mother.”

Jamie’s reply was soft, full of feeling.

This was a man who loved women, Claire realized. And not for the obvious reasons – because he genuinely cares. He reveres them.

*He would revere you, Claire.*

But she shook the thought – warm but traitorous – from her head. No. No – she had to keep to what she’d said to him earlier.

But why did she feel such a gaping hole in her chest?

“Well. No obvious signs of trauma – and he can answer questions asked in the same language. His Gaelic is perfect – were you taught from birth?”

Jamie nodded, wincing as the motion pulled at his wounds.

“So – I assume you already did an x-ray when he came in? To check for bleeding on the brain?”

“Yes – and there was no swelling that we could find.” Joe tapped his fingers on the desk, pulling his collar away from his neck with his free hand. Despite the fans lazily circling overhead, it was impossible to escape the near-oppressive humidity. “But that was three days ago – I hadn’t thought of doing another one. You think it would be a good idea?”

“It couldn’t hurt – and I’ll be staying the night anyway. Nurse Randall – could you make the arrangements?”

“Of course.” Any time to just be near Jamie – as long as he couldn’t touch her. She wouldn’t be able to honor her promise if she was touching him.

She rose. “I’ll leave you three to it – will go speak with Alec.”

She smiled at them – and Jamie’s eyes, open wide, followed her to the door.

—

Past dinner now – and Claire was finally off duty.

Drs. Gowan and Abernathy had invited her to dinner in the officers’ mess – a rare treat. Ned had wanted to hear more about her interest in his work – and finally able to share her clear love for all things medical with an esteemed doctor, Claire was in her element.

“See, Ned – I told you. She’s a natural. She’d be a shoo-in for any medical school that wanted her, especially after spending time at Chu Lai. There isn’t anyone else I’d want next to me in the OR than this gal here.”

Claire had blushed – and her heart had lifted at Joe’s praise. She worked so hard to be recognized for her brain, and perhaps with the goal of attending medical school front and center in her mind, that could take her focus away from Jamie.

But when Joe had gone back to the bar to get them another round – the booze was certainly better here than in the mess hall – Dr. Gowan had hunched across the table.

“I told you my Gaelic isn’t perfect – but I know enough. And Captain Fraser – Jamie – when I took him for the x-ray, he gripped my hand and asked me to tell you something.”

Claire stiffened, heart skittering in her chest.

“What did he say?” she breathed.

“Let me get this right – the language is actually quite formal. Ah. He said that you take very good care of him. He said – tell her I’m grateful. Tell her I trust her to make the right decision. And tell her that I understand.”

She released a shaky breath, laying her trembling palms flat on the table. Frank’s gold ring jeered at her in the fluorescent light.

“Claire – it’s none of my business. I won’t pretend to understand it – but that man is *drawn* to you. That is something very, very rare. And I recommend you take the gift that is being offered.”

“Why so serious?” Joe slammed down three more tall beers. “This party is just getting started!”

Claire swallowed, suddenly incapable of speech.

—

Two hours and five drinks later, Claire – surprisingly steady – decided to walk the long way back to her quarters.

If by the long way, she meant walking through the recovery ward.

What was it that drew her to him so? Yes, he was good-looking. Yes, he was clean-cut – a Marine Captain, and a brave one, after all.

His voice was beautiful. His hands were beautiful. His flaming hair was beautiful.

They had never truly had a conversation – so why did she feel she’d learned more about *who* he was, and in three days, than she’d ever learned about any other person?

And then her feet had led her to his bed. From the gentle rise and fall of his bandages she could tell he was in a deep, restorative sleep. The painkillers undoubtedly helped – but he needed as much rest as he could get.

What did he dream about?

Powerless to stop herself, she stepped to his side and knelt to be eye-to-eye with his heartbreakingly beautiful face.

And watched her fingers reach out to gently tuck a few loose strands of hair behind his ear.

And felt her heart stop as his lips curved into a smile.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/150359982352/imagine-claire-discussing-brain-damage-with) on tumblr

Claire squinted at the x-ray of Captain Fraser’s brain.

Joe Abernathy, standing next to her with his hands folded behind his back, tilted his head, considering.

“Tell me what you see, Claire.”

On her other side, Dr. Gowan sneezed.

“Excuse me,” he sniffed, producing a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket. “It’s so damp here – my lungs are just so much more sensitive now than they used to be.”

“Have you ever considered an herbal remedy, perhaps? I don’t know if we have any here, but the mothership back in Saigon must have some jimson weed. Great at clearing up the airways.”

Ned loudly blew his nose, shaking his head. “Will wonders never cease with you, Nurse Randall? Boston Joe is right – you’ll make a fine doctor someday.”

Claire flushed with the praise – but Joe gently tapped her shoulder.

“Tell me what you see, Claire,” he repeated, gesturing to the x-ray.

She pursed her lips. “From here – ” she indicated at a walnut-sized area on the right side of the patient’s skull – “you can see that in addition to the swelling on these few lobes, there’s a slight flulid build-up, pressing down on his Broca’s area. No wonder he’s had difficulty with English.”

“Very good.” Joe nodded, eyes quickly scanning the rest of the x-ray. “And how do you propose we treat this edema?”

“Well…the easiest would be a shunt. But that’s risky, and given the small area under discussion, likely unnecessary.”

“Good thinking.” Ned scratched at the whiskers on his chin. “So if no shunt – ”

“Then targeted medication and constant monitoring to ensure that the edema doesn’t get worse. And since he’s otherwise physically healthy, with good care it should go away within a few weeks.”

Claire suppressed a yelp of surprise as Dr. Gowan clapped her on the back. “Perfect! Joe, if you’re not careful I may just see if she can fit in my chopper back to Saigon – ”

“Not so fast, Ned – I need her here. She’s a much better doctor than some of the losers I have to deal with here.”

He grinned at her with an exaggerated wink, and pride flushed through her.

—

Two days later, Claire was sitting at Joe’s desk, updating Jamie’s – Captain Fraser’s – medical file.

He’d responded well to the treatment regimen that Drs. Gowan and Abernathy had devised. It would be slow going, and he’d still need to be under constant monitoring, but there had been a small victory this morning – which was why she felt the need to update his file.

She had come in bright and early, as usual – checking his drip, examining the deep wounds on his back, bringing a fresh cup of water to his bedside table. He’d appeared to be asleep, but –

“Hello.”

Claire had nearly dropped her clipboard.

“Hello,” he repeated, tilting his head to look up at her – still awkwardly lying face-down on the mattress.

She couldn’t help but crouch down to be eye level with him.

“Hello, Claire,” he rasped, lips parted in a magnificent grin, like a small boy showing off a new skill.

Well, she supposed, he *did* have a lot to be proud of.

“Hello, Jamie,” she whispered, mindful of the sleeping patients. “Good morning.”

His eyes locked on hers, and he murmured more words in his soft, hypnotizing language.

“I’m glad to see you’re responding so well to the treatment – given our resources here, we weren’t sure it would work so quickly.”

He nodded, and spoke more.

How she wished she could understand him.

“You’ll need to stay on it for a while yet. Is it giving you headaches?”

“No.” That had been his first word – which he’d also shared with her immediately, just a few days back when she’d asked that they end…whatever it was between them.

“That’s good. Your back is continuing to heal nicely – I’ll be able to start taking off some of the bandages soon. And then you’ll be walking around again before you know it.”

He nodded, truly pleased.

“Well – let me go fetch you a new drip, then. The one you’re hooked up to is almost out.”

He hadn’t reached out to touch her – hadn’t since she’d asked him not to. It was something so small, yet the three days she’d gone without it now had left an aching emptiness in her chest.

How desperately she wanted to feel something – anything. Especially for this man. Especially *with* this man.

But she couldn’t. Frank’s ring reminded her of that, every time she looked down at it.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t dare a bit.

“Ca-dal,” she said softly.

Briefly his eyes widened in surprised, and then – she didn’t think it possible, but his smile got even wider.

“Ca-dal,” she repeated. “That means ‘sleep,’ doesn’t it?”

He vigorously nodded, clearly very pleased.

“So – will you rest today, soldier?”

He nodded again, still grinning. Face bright as the sun.

“Mo gry,” he whispered. “Mo gry.”

She’d stood then and checked on the other patients, trying to remember those final words he’d said – but had forgotten them by the time she returned to Joe’s office to update his file.

And now that she’d finished her progress report and tucked it under the clip fastened to the right side of the folder, she couldn’t help but glance through the pages stapled to the left side of the foldier.

Jamie’s picture – all clean lines, sharp jaw, and a head tilted just enough to show that he clearly understood his worth and wasn’t afraid to express it. Hair barely visible underneath his white Marines cap.

Then behind that, a few pages with his basic personal information. His birthday – May the first – and year of birth – at twenty-two, he was five years her junior. His home address – just a PO box in the town of Boone, North Carolina. His service record – he had enlisted at eighteen, quickly risen in the ranks, and was already quite the decorated soldier. Already a Captain, and once his Purple Heart arrived there was talk that he would be promoted yet again.

And his next of kin – Claire’s brows raised to see that both his parents were listed as deceased, but a sister – Jenny Murray, also of Boone, North Carolina, was identified.

And then her heart almost stopped.

For General Dougal MacKenzie was listed directly below Jenny Murray, as simply as if he were another sibling.

General Dougal MacKenzie. The Great Scot, he was called behind his back. Tall and muscular and fierce – he was rumored to have single-handedly taken out an entire squad of Germans after parachuting behind enemy lines on D-Day, and then to have repeated himself – albeit with a troop of Chinese soldiers – in the cold mud of Korea.

He had a brilliant military mind, an explosive personality, and there were rumors that he even had political aspirations. Which was why he’d put up his hand to serve at the high command for all the troops deployed in ‘Nam – he was the only man crazy enough to do it.

And he was Jamie’s uncle.

Claire slowly shut Jamie’s file and slowly rubbed her face with her hands.

What the hell was she getting herself into?


	6. Chapter 6

Three days later, with the assistance of Nurse Hawkins, Claire had done the delicate work of removing all of Captain Fraser’s bandages from his back.

All of the shallow cuts had healed – and the deeper ones could be treated with bandages on the site of the injury, rather than the wrap of gauze and tape that had kept him practically immobile since he’d arrived at Chu Lai.

It had taken more than three hours to properly remove the bandages, inspect the wounds, and clean and sterilize his back. He had lay still the entire time, breathing heavily, hands gripping the side of the gurney – but never uttering a sound.

And finally when Mary had left the curtained-off partition to dispose of all the used bandages, Claire had helped Jamie sit up. He winced as the fresh, soft skin of his back stretched to accommodate his movement, and she bit her lip – hesitant to offer help, knowing that he had to do this on his own.

It was so worth it when he looked over at her – eye level with her for the first time – and smiled.

“Th – tha – thank. Thank…you. Claire.”

They shared a smile – and Claire’s heart fluttered.

“Thank yourself – you heal faster than almost any other man on this ward. You’ve made it easy for me – never picked at your bandages, always listened to what the doctor prescribed…you’re the model patient, Captain.”

He slowly closed his eyes, then opened them again. Brow furrowed in frustration, he quickly did it again once more.

Christ – was he *winking* at her?

“All done!” Mary exclaimed as she thrust back the curtain and returned with a sponge and bedpan full of water. “Now – I thought Captain Fraser could do with a bit of a bath. Dr. Abernathy was asking for you, Claire – ”

She turned to face Claire eagerly, hoping to please the nurse that was her superior and mentor. Behind her back, Jamie theatrically rolled his eyes.

Claire smiled warmly and gently lay a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Good idea, Mary. Make sure he’s comfortable when you’re done – perhaps take him to the rec room? Some sunlight would do him good.”

“Of course!” Mary chirped, then turned to face Jamie – whose fair eyebrows had raised almost to his hairline.

“Are you ready? Now you may have to – no, no, you must let me help you – ”

Claire suppressed a laugh as she pushed back the curtain and padded down the hall to Boston Joe’s office.

–

Claire work early the next morning, quickly dressed in the darkness, and slipped to the mess hall for a cup of imitation coffee and bowl of what Murphy the cook claimed to be oatmeal. Looking up from her tray, she scanned the rows of tables – and smiled to see Joe sitting by himself, half-done with his second bowl of imitation oatmeal. He waved her over, and she gratefully sank across from him.

“I’m surprised to see *you* up this early,” she teased, blowing on the warm liquid so that it didn’t scorch the roof of her mouth. “And I know you were up late last night as well – ”

Joe swallowed, sighed, and belched.

“Yeah, well – it’s not every day that a three-star general is scheduled to make a last-minute visit.”

Claire nearly dropped her coffee. “A general?” she exclaimed. “Who? Why?”

Joe absently stirred the mush around in his dented bowl. “General MacKenzie – the Great Scot. He’ll be arriving by chopper at oh-nine-hundred. For an inspection of the facilities – and to award the Purple Heart to some of the men. And both a Purple Heart and Bronze Star to our Captain Fraser. His nephew.”

Claire knew this, of course – and she knew that Joe knew she knew. Damn her glass face.

Joe sipped from his own mug – tea, not coffee. “So I gotta be ready. And *you* gotta be ready, Claire – the General’s got a well-deserved reputation for being an asshole, but he’s a fine damn brave asshole and people talk that he wants to be one of the Joint Chiefs. So.”

She choked down some of the oatmeal – even with the burnt brown sugar she’d sprinkled on the top, it still tasted like glue. “So. What can I do?”

“Be with me when I greet him. And be ready to answer any and all questions about the health of one Captain James Fraser.”

–

She hadn’t really known what to expect – but this hulking, bald, square-jawed bear of a man looked like he’d be more at home in a Scottish castle than crammed in a tiny chopper. He was tall – dimly, Claire wondered whether Jamie had got his height from his mother’s side of the family – and his chest was dripping with ribbons.

“Dr. Abernathy?”

Joe’s dark hand disappeared into Dougal MacKenzie’s massive handshake. “It’s an honor, sir,” he said, trying his best to withhold a grimace as the general squeezed his sensitive surgeon’s fingers. “I truly never thought I’d have the pleasure.”

“Well you’re a brave man if you consider meeting me to be a pleasure – but I hear you do good work here.” General MacKenzie heartily clapped Joe on the back, actually pushing the poor man forward a few inches. “And I’m especially grateful for the care you’ve provided to my nephew. He’s almost a son to me – ”

“I completely understand.” Joe flexed his now-aching hand and settled it on the small of Claire’s back, pushing her forward a bit. “This is Nurse Claire Randall – she’s been directly supervising Captain Fraser’s care.”

The general swiveled his massive frame, squinting in the tropical sun, and smiled at Claire. Nothing like Jamie’s sunny, ear-to-ear, genuine smiles – no. This was a bit cold – calculating. Appraising.

She shivered, despite the bead of sweat trickling down her back.

Then he took her hand – tried to raise it to his lips for a kiss. But she pushed her hand down and gripped his fingers in a proper handshake.

“Pleasure, General,” she said evenly, voice strong. “He’s been a very good patient.”

The general’s eyes creased – in humor or displeasure?

But then he returned the handshake. “Indeed, Nurse Randall – he certainly doesn’t get that from *my* side of the family.”

Then he dropped her hand and turned over his shoulder to gesture at the fresh-faced aide standing smartly at attention behind him.

“Have you got the ribbons?”

“Yes, sir!” The man looked straight ahead, uniform wilting in the humidity. Claire read “MacKENZIE” on his nameplate – a relative?

The general turned back to face Joe. “A quick tour of the hospital, if you please, Dr. Abernathy – and then I’d like to do some pinning.”

“Of course.” Joe gestured behind him, where the other nurses and doctors stood up against the windows of the hospital, indoors and under the fans. “The OR is quiet – let’s start there.”

Claire followed a few paces behind, beside young MacKenzie.

“I must ask – any relation?”

The young man shifted his heavy satchel from one hand to the other. “Not that I can tell, to be honest – though he certainly enjoys it. Me, and my twin brother Angus – we both serve as the general’s aides. He gets a kick out of the fact that we’re identical – loves keeping the other generals guessing. I’m Rupert.”

“Claire.”

He nodded politely. “Well then, Claire – let’s see what Chu Lai has to offer.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/151149121742/let-us-not-talk-falsely-now) on tumblr

Claire straightened the collar of Captain Fraser’s dress uniform.

“You won’t be able to button it – I don’t want the fabric chafing your back. And don’t lean against the headboard – try to sit up straight.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, but sat up a bit straighter, wincing at the sensation.

Briefly Claire admired the bars and ribbons that already took up a fair amount of real estate on the jacket. He had clearly accomplished much during his four years of service – and was likely on pace for many more great things.

Now that his back was truly healing – he was still under observation, but walking with assistance – the brass would surely be asking when he could be sent to Saigon for some R&R. The precursor to being sent back to the front.

Only the brain injury – still there, but healing along with his back – was keeping him here now at Chu Lai. But he was making so much progress, and even that excuse couldn’t be used for much longer.

And now with this award – it was sending a message. This man is valuable. We want him back.

Throat suddenly thick, Claire gently brushed dust from the jacket’s shoulders.

No. No thinking of that – the day when she and Jamie would be parted. The day he would return to his men, to his life – and walk out of hers.

A soft touch at her chin – Jamie’s thumb and index finger.

He tilted her chin up, and her eyes met his.

So close. So blue.

“S – s – sad?” he whispered.

She swallowed. She didn’t need to use words.

Gently, carefully, his thumb caressed her chin.

“No sad. No. Claire – h – happy.”

*You make me happy,* she wanted to scream.

But instead she held his eyes – and he let her.

Let her lose herself.

Fathomless, eternity.

And then his touch was gone, and she blinked awake, and realized that footsteps were approaching.

She swallowed, and straightened – to see General Dougal MacKenzie walking with Dr. Abernathy, Rupert MacKenzie three paces behind.

Jamie followed his uncle’s approach, not speaking.

The general stepped over to the foot of Jamie’s bed, and saluted.

Jamie saluted in return, holding himself upright with his left hand. Claire saw his knuckles white against the bedframe – with tension or pain?

“It’s good to see you, Jamie.”

Jamie nodded, watching Rupert silently step to the general’s side and offer a pillow with two medals.

“Captain James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser – I hereby award you this Purple Heart.” Dougal picked up the small medal and slowly walked around the bed to Jamie’s left side.

“This is the medal that no soldier ever wants to earn. But as a recipient of this – for putting your body and mind in harm’s way for the sake of your men, and the sake of your country – you will forever be known as a man of valor. Someone who is willing to sacrifice – willing to do what it takes, willing to do the right thing.”

He bent and pinned the medal on Jamie’s jacket.

“For wounds received in action on April 16, 1969, in Viet Nam, on behalf of President Nixon, I hereby present you with this Purple Heart.”

Jamie was ramrod straight – staring straight ahead.

Tears sprang to Claire’s eyes at the honest bravery of this extraordinary young man.

The general stood and turned. Rupert now handed him another medal – a red ribbon, from which a star dangled.

“And now, also on behalf of President Nixon, I hereby present you with the Bronze Star, with the V device for valor. Your display of exemplary courage is directly responsible for saving the lives of eight men. This military needs more men like you.”

He bent to affix the other pin.

Dr. Abernathy and the general saluted him.

As did Claire.

Jamie was stonefaced – but his eyes. His eyes were fixed on her.

–

She and Joe had left the recovery ward after that, wanting to give uncle and nephew a chance to chat.

So now they indulged themselves, lounging in the shade of the awning outside the officers’ club, holding bags of ice against the backs of their necks.

“I’ve only ever seen a few Bronze Stars awarded,” Joe murmured after a while. “And very rarely with a Purple Heart. Your Captain Fraser sure is something else.”

Claire shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “He’s not *mine,* Joe.”

Joe shot her a withering look. “I’ll be straight with you, Claire – that man is into you. And it’s not just because you’re his nurse – it’s something…I don’t know. Elemental.”

She sighed. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, it is.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Claire closed her eyes. “What *can* I do about it? I’m married.”

“Unhappily.”

She pursed her lips. “That doesn’t matter. I made a vow.”

Joe set his bag of ice on the top of one shoulder. “That’s bullshit, Claire. That husband of yours never writes you. You never write him. And don’t give me some crap about he’s in Intelligence – any idiot can still send his wife a goddamn postcard.”

She said nothing, watching a long stream of ants pass along a large leaf, one by one, until it disappeared inside a tiny hole in the dirt beside her boot.

“They’re going to med-evac him to Saigon, aren’t they?”

Joe sighed. “Yes. That’s what the General wants – to parade his nephew around. Show off the hero in the family.”

She swallowed against the knot forming in her stomach. “And you’ll let him?”

“What choice do I have, Claire? He’s…my boss’s boss’s…whatever. I can push them off for a bit, but only for so long.”

His ice-cold hand rested on hers – startling her.

“You need to face facts, Claire. Whatever they are.”

She closed her eyes, and sighed, and wished she was anywhere but Vietnam.

–

About half an hour later, Claire and Joe made their way back to Captain Fraser’s bed – Joe to escort the general back to his chopper, Claire to (ostensibly) check on her patient.

Right as they rounded the corner, though – raised voices.

In Gaelic.

Jamie and his uncle were arguing – that much was certain. But about what?

Joe lifted a wary eyebrow at Claire, and confidently strode on, affecting blissful unawareness at the conversation.

“General – it’s past time – ”

Claire followed behind – to see Jamie slumped back against the headboard, uniform jacket askew on his broad shoulders.

Quickly she moved to help him out of the jacket – gently resting it at the foot of his bed – and adjusted the pillows behind his back.

Behind her, two sets of footsteps receded away toward the door – the bastard hadn’t even said goodbye to his nephew.

As soon as the door to the ward swung shut, Jamie almost collapsed against her.

“Hup – up we go, soldier,” she soothed, grabbing a hold of his shoulders and carefully guiding him against the headboard.

He murmured something in Gaelic, and she turned to meet his eyes.

His left hand slid across the bedspread to grab hers. Without a thought, their fingers interlaced.

“Deep breaths,” she whispered. “That’s it. Deep breaths. Do you want the morphine?”

He vehemently shook his head, squeezing her hand tightly.

She let him.

She would always let him.

And after a moment, his thumb began tracing her knuckles.

Mesmerized, she watched his skin whisper against hers.

And then his right hand pantomimed something against his leg.

“Writing?” she asked softly. “Would you like to write something?”

He nodded – and with a final squeeze of his hand, she rose, rummaged through the drawer in his bedside table, and produced a ballpoint pen and half-used yellow legal pad.

He pat the bed next to him, and she sat against his right side.

Then he began to write, in slow, careful letters.

“A lefty, are you?”

He smiled briefly, but kept his eyes focused on his writing.

In English.

When he was done, she wanted to collapse against his shoulder.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/151429727561/the-hours-getting-late) on tumblr

“Jamie – I – ”

“Sshh,” he soothed, tilting the pad so that she had a better view.

*Dougal wants me to go to Saigon. He wants me to go back. I told him I’m applying for a discharge. I want to go home. He’s very angry. But none of that matters as much as I thought. Because all of those options mean I must leave you.*

She licked her lips – not willing to meet his eyes. For to do so would crack her heart wide open.

Slowly she watched him scratch out more words.

*I know you’re married. He’s a very lucky man. And I will not overstep those boundaries. For it is my burden to bear, that the very thought of leaving you hurts more than the wounds on my back.*

What could she possibly say to this selfless, eloquent man who had been robbed of his speech but not his gift for words?

“Jamie, I – ”

His right hand pressed hers, quieting her. For now that he had found the words, they were all tumbling out.

*I will NOT let my uncle parade me like a prize. I will NOT let him use me. I’ve done my service – it’s time to go back to the farm. Back to my life. And I want you to know that our door is ALWAYS open.*

“I’ve never wanted to ask you about…after,” she whispered, eyes locked on the damp bedspread. “My tour is almost up – I’ll be back Stateside in a few months. And then I want to apply for a discharge, too – for medical school.”

She felt his eyes on her – and she bravely looked up. To see him grinning from ear to ear, eyes crinkled in joy.

“G-g-g-goodd,” he said slowly, deliberately.

“My husband won’t think so,” she sighed.

Jamie frowned, shaking his head. Then turned his eyes back to the notepad.

*You will be the best doctor. You have more compassion than anyone I’ve ever known. And I can feel that you truly want to HEAL people.*

“I do. And I want to heal *you,* Jamie. Your body, your brain. Help you find your voice.”

Now he set down the pad and turned to face her fully, both hands taking hers.

“Y-y-y-you. You h-h-avve. Claire. You have, Claire.”

Then he brought her right hand to his lips for a kiss.

–

Three days later she sat at the corner of Joe Abernathy’s desk, filling out requisition forms. Beside her, Joe clacked away on his typewriter, completing his report on the number of surgeries he and the team had performed on the batch of soldiers brought in by chopper the day before.

“I saw your Captain Fraser walking around the rec hall today,” he remarked casually, flipping through his notebook. “Seems he can say a few basic words now, as well.”

Claire carefully summed the numbers on the requisition form before setting down her pen. “Yes – his progress is truly amazing. To come back from such an injury – ”

“It’s all because of you, Claire. You created his plan of care – you’ve been at his side most every day.”

Her cheeks flushed at his praise.

“You know I’ll write you a recommendation letter to any med school. I’ll bully Ned into writing one for you as well – you’d be an asset to any school you apply to. I hope you know that.”

She nodded, smiling a true smile. “It’s time, Joe. You know my tour is up in August – I’ll put in my papers. Go back, and apply. And see Frank.”

“Are you gonna ask him for a divorce?”

Her brows shot up. “That’s a very personal question, Joe.”

“Well, are you?”

His eyes held hers. She shifted uncomfortably.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you won’t tell me? You don’t *have* to tell me, Claire – but the two of you need a serious *talk.*”

“I know.” Her voice sounded so small. Unconvinced.

“When is his tour up?”

“September.”

“And will he come home?”

She rubbed her temples – head suddenly throbbing. “You mean to the flat we haven’t lived in together for two years? I suppose.”

Joe just looked at her.

“I know. I know.”

“Do you, Claire? And if it wasn’t for that redheaded soldier – would you still know?”

She pursed her lips – silent. Not willing to state the truth.

–

They had taken dinner together for the past three days – now that Jamie was fully up and walking, and no longer needed a cane to help balance himself. His steps were slow, his mobility was still limited – but he was healing. Healing very well.

It was completely inappropriate for nurses to dine with patients.

She didn’t care.

“Here – you finish this…imitation meatloaf. It’s probably made from the rear end of that water buffalo you can see from Joe’s office.”

He smiled, and speared the rubbery meat with his fork. His appetite was just immense – yet another sign that he was healing.

He made a funny face as he chewed – and she snorted.

“Just because you have a chest full of medals doesn’t mean you can do that,” she teased.

Jamie rolled his eyes theatrically.

He had put in his discharge papers two days prior – after a painstaking “conversation” over the radio, where he had written out his answers for Joe to read to Jamie’s commanding officer, who was stationed further up the coast.

Saigon wasn’t happy that the latest hero had decided to go home. While he was mostly healed, he was definitely not ready for combat – he still couldn’t fully turn from side to side, given the healing scars, and still hadn’t fully regained his command of spoken English.

But the decision was made – and the paperwork had just been a formality. Now he was waiting here for the paperwork to go through, and once that happened he’d be choppered back to Saigon – then likely put on a transport to the west coast.

But neither Jamie nor Claire wanted to think about that right now.

“D-d-des-dessert.” He pointed at a brown lump in the corner of her cafeteria tray.

“You know I won’t touch…whatever that is. Unless you want it?”

He shook his head –

Then reached across the table to grab her hand.

Eyes wide in terror as shots and screams pierced the quiet night.

Chaos as the nurses, orderlies, and ambulatory patients in the mess hall scrambled for cover.

And then Jamie and Claire were on their feet – gripping each other’s hands – and running down the hallway toward the OR.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/151887423961/anonymous-asked-omg-gotham-i-just-read-your) on tumblr

Jamie carefully balanced the tray as he ascended the stairs, bare fleet sliding along the worn wood boards hewn by his six times great-grandfather back before the Revolution. Quietly down the hallway, then gently elbowing open the door to the room his parents had lived in when he was a boy.

Claire was awake – she never slept long by herself, sensing his absence even in sleep. She blinked at him from against the headboard his grandfather had carved, hair all wild, the low neck of her sleep shirt slung to expose one bare shoulder.

He set down the tray on the bedside table he’d made her for their anniversary, handed her the black coffee she craved each morning, and smiled as she tilted her chin, waiting for his kiss.

And then her hand snaked over his to take the mug from his fingers, withdrawing from his mouth just enough to take her first sip of the day. Eyes still locked with his, the corners crinkling with amusement – and so much joy to be starting yet another day with him.

A crash outside their window – he turned –

And almost tripped over a half-unpacked box of catheters someone had carelessly left in the hallway leading to the Chu Lai recovery ward.

“This way!” Claire darted right, away from the gunshots and screams and God knew what else was going on back at the mess hall.

Jamie gripped her hand tight, grimacing as the healing scars on his back jostled in rhythm with his quick strides. And at the very real fear that what he’d dreamed of almost every day since he’d woken up at Chu Lai – making Claire her coffee each morning – would never come to pass.

He had no idea where they were going – but knew that he would protect her to the very last drop of blood in his body. And that he trusted her with his life.

She led him back to a tiny office – from the haphazard papers piled on one desk next to a Red Sox cap, this had to be where Claire and Dr. Abernathy spent most of their time.

Claire flicked off the light and shut the door, locking it. Jamie dutifully pushed Joe’s desk up against the door, heedless of papers sliding off to flutter silently to the floor, and then hoisted the desk chair on top for good measure.

Echoes of automatic fire filtered through the door. Us, or Charlie?

Jamie swallowed and turned to see Claire pulling another, smaller desk toward the door. Quickly he helped her wedge it at an angle against the other desk, then watched her diligently stack thick medical volumes on top of the desk.

Charlie would need a hell of a lot more than an AK to get into this room.

But it could still do a lot of damage.

“D-d-down,” he rasped, gesturing toward the floor with one hand.

The last thing either of them needed was to be hit by a random bullet sprayed through the flimsy wall.

So Claire sank to her knees, resting her back against the drawers of the desk. And as Jamie dropped to her side, he watched her shoulders slump as the adrenaline ebbed out of her body.

A soft rumble – a bomb, perhaps? Or a grenade?

Without thinking, he opened his arms, and Claire collapsed into them.

For the first time – would this be the last time? – he held her. Pressed her face against his neck. Nudged her side so that she slid onto his lap, arms twined around his shoulders – mindful of his scars.

Maneuvering them so that his body was completely between her and the desks – and the door.

If he died today, it would not matter. For it would be in the service of this extraordinary woman – whom he loved more than his country, more than his sister and nephew, more than his career.

More than his life.

“*Mary, Michael, and Bride, protect us. O blessed Michael of the red domain, shield my beloved, my white dove.*”

His lips moved almost soundlessly in the *Gaidhlig,* right next to her ear.

“*Keep her safe from harm. In this place, and in every place.*”

Hurried bootsteps in the hallway – and the floor shook.

Plaster rained down from the ceiling.

“*On this day, and on every day.*”

Muffled explosions somewhere close.

She was shaking – trying to be so brave.

“*Give her mind peace, and her soul strength. And give me the fortitude to do right by her. Let me be what she needs, for however long she allows it. Let me be enough.*”

Automatic fire right outside the door.

Jamie curled his body around Claire’s, fingers digging into the rough olive fabric of her uniform, molding her to him. Terrified to even draw breath.

Then she tilted her chin, and he drew back to watch her in the dark.

She looked exactly like she always did in his dream.

“We’re going to die,” she whispered, eyes shining with tears.

And so he did what always came next in his dream – fuse his mouth to hers.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/152251785938/see-what-you-can-do-inspired-by-this-phrase-from-a) on tumblr

It didn’t matter that voices, punctuated by automatic fire, were screaming in Vietnamese outside the barricaded door of Joe’s office.

It didn’t matter that she was sitting in the dark, plaster dust caking her shoulders.

It didn’t matter that she should probably be out there, tending to the wounded, following her calling.

All that mattered was the man holding her – literally shielding her with his body – whose lips tasted of home and safety.

Why – why had she just found him, at the moment when her life was about to end?

She sobbed into Jamie’s mouth. He drew back, breathing heavily.

“Hurt?”

His breath ghosted against her lips. She dug her hands into his hair and sucked on his lower lip.

Something crashed against the door. Claire scrambled onto Jamie’s lap, hooking her legs around his middle.

“Claire,” he gasped. “Claire.”

“Hold me.”

“Always.”

Then she was flat on her back, Jamie pinning her to the thin linoleum.

Legs spread wide open – ready, and wanting.

Bullets pinged down all around them – through the door, ricocheting off the walls.

Jamie took Claire’s mouth, swallowing their screams.

They broke apart when the air became too thick with smoke and dust.

To hear only their own heartbeats. And the pop-pop-pop of automatic fire, far away.

Jamie rested on his elbows atop her. Pelvis grinding against hers. Smudging away the dirt on her cheek that had become muddy with her tears.

“So beautiful.”

Claire reached a trembling hand to a fresh cut blooming on Jamie’s cheek.

“Jamie –”

“Sshh.”

She turned her palm over, pressing her bloody knuckles to the spot right beneath his eye where the fresh red blood oozed.

Mingling their blood.

Binding them.

“In Scotland – when a man and wife marry – they make a blood oath.”

His voice – was that his voice? – was so beautiful.

He was speaking in complete sentences.

They had to be dead.

“My oath to you,” she whispered, “is that I will be there for you. Whatever you do. Whoever you are.”

He smiled – so beautiful. So sad. Turned his head to kiss the tender skin at the inside of her wrist. She watched a tear make a clear path down the grime coating his cheeks.

“My oath to you, Claire – my vow – is to let you go. To make sure you live, so that you can return home.”

Shouts in the hallway – in English now.

“But *you* are my home!” She pressed her knuckles closer to his cheek, as if to bind them together.

But he shook his head – and her hand came loose, ripping the spot where their joined blood had clotted.

Tearing fresh wounds.

“And you’ve become mine, Claire,” he breathed, voice thick, and bent to kiss her one last time.

Gently. Reverently.

“But this home is lost.”

Greedily she opened her mouth to his – and with a sigh, he melted into her.

“…haven’t checked this corridor yet. My God!”

Joe.

Jamie carefully pulled back from Claire’s lips and eased to a sitting position, mindful of the clumps of plaster and furniture and the wires hanging haphazardly from the ruined ceiling. He slid an arm around Claire’s back and helped her sit as well –

“Claire! Thank God you’re all right.”

She blinked at the harsh flashlight blinding her vision – groping desperately for Jamie’s hand.

He found her. Anchored her.

“Joe,” she heard a voice croak. “I’m all right.”

Christ – it was *her* voice.

“Sorry about your office.”

Joe’s hearty laugh rang through the dark. Jamie’s thumb caressed the back of her hand.

“Claire – believe me, that’s the least of my worries.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/152512364830/this-is-not-our-fate) on tumblr

What transpired over the next few hours felt like it was happening to someone else.

Gingerly walking through the rubble of the office – Jamie right behind her – to step into Joe’s embrace.

Following the MP down the ruined hallway, pockmarked with bullets and piles of plaster, past the OR. Fresh blood oozed under the door – but no surgeries had been done that day.

Jamie at her side as they stepped into the harsh tropical sunlight – it was still day? – and she saw all the cuts on his face and arms for the first time.

Only a few scratches on her hands – but other than that, she was in one piece. Because of Jamie. Jamie, whose red buzz cut shone like a copper penny in the sun. Jamie, standing so tall, giving her space to process the destruction, not reaching to physically comfort her in the presence of others.

“We counted twenty-five VC,” Joe said softly, standing at Claire’s other side, watching the MPs herd the four surviving attackers – clad in ragged black pants – into one of the outbuildings.

“How could so few men do so much damage?”

Joe whirled to face Jamie – mouth open in shock.

“They each had two AKs, belts full of grenades – and they had a map of the camp,” Joe replied warily. “And since when can you talk?”

Jamie shrugged – wincing at the tightness of his muscles. Claire felt his fingers vibrating with the urge to touch her – so she unabashedly took his hand, squeezing it. Supporting him – as he had protected and supported her.

Joe sighed. “It was organized. Five men each attacked five different buildings. Some came up off the beach – some came straight out of the jungle.”

Claire’s eyes settled on ten sheet-draped forms clustered outside the administration building.

“Oh God, Joe – ”

She didn’t need to see his face to know he was crying. “We lost some, Claire. Damn VC went straight for the wounded in the recovery ward. They didn’t have a chance.”

Claire watched two MPs solemnly lay another sheet-covered form in the courtyard.

“My God,” she breathed. “We were right there. That was right next door to your office.”

Jamie’s thumb traced the back of her fingers.

“That’s why it took us so long to find you, Claire.” Joe wiped his face against his dusty uniform. “You just took off – you went straight into the fire.”

She said nothing – couldn’t say anything.

“Is the camp still operational?”

Now Joe turned his body to face Jamie head on, looking him over from head to toe.

“It’s not – some of us are going to be shipped out to other field hospitals while this one is fixed. But all the wounded will be sent to Saigon. Tomorrow.”

Jamie nodded, processing the news.

Claire’s stomach lurched.

“And something tells me that by tonight we’ll have heard from General MacKenzie. Wanting an update on his nephew.”

Jamie twined his fingers through Claire’s.

“His nephew wishes to go home,” he seethed, suddenly very tired. “I’m done with ‘Nam.”

“Tough luck – everyone has to go through Saigon first. You know how it all works – they’ll keep you there for days and days of paperwork. Claire and I – we’ll be sent to a place over near Da Nang. All the wounded will be re-routed there until Chu Lai is back up and running.”

It was a gorgeous day – not a cloud in the sky, a gentle breeze blowing up off the water and into the small grassy area between the buildings. The palm trees swayed – the big white birds roosting in the branches cawed.

Peace. Beauty.

“What happens now, Joe?”

“Now, Claire – you and I are going to the administrative building to get our orders sorted. Captain – ”

“Jamie,” he insisted. “After all we’ve been through – please call me Jamie.”

Both men knew it would be violating protocol.

Both men didn’t care.

“Jamie,” Joe continued. “You are to report to Building 10 – all the non-staff are being catalogued. The radio is already back up and running – they’ll be on with Saigon until they figure out what to do with every single man here.”

Claire turned to Jamie, a shallow smile plastered on her face. He squeezed her hand, then released it. Then – despite the pain it must have caused his tender back and sore sides – bowed to her. Like a knight. Before straightening, nodding, and plodding over to report.

Stunned, Claire could only watch him leave.

“What happened, Claire?”

Joe’s voice sounded so far away.

“He saved my life,” she breathed, watching Jamie salute the MP at the door of Building 10, mount the steps – wincing the whole time – and disappear inside.

“And what are you going to do with that life, now?”

She turned to Joe – her boss, friend, mentor, confidante.

“I sure as hell am not going to waste it.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/152645396263/and-the-wind-begins-to-howl) on tumblr

It was past midnight by the time she saw Jamie again. Hours and hours of waiting in the administrative building, listening to the harried voices crackling over the radio, negotiating for doctors and nurses and bargaining for R&R and equipment.

Was it all a dream? Had today truly happened? Not just the attack – terrible as it was – but what had passed between her and Jamie, when the bullets had zinged over their heads?

He had been so – gentle. Reverent. And he tasted like everything she had always wanted.

He had saved her life – made sure she lived to see another day.

To go home – to begin medical school.

And to go back to Frank.

The dawn would lead to their parting.

She had to see him.

It would be Da Nang – like Joe had said. When she’d finally spoken with headquarters, she’d also said that she would be putting in her papers for a discharge.

She didn’t know the voice on the other end of the radio, but it sounded so very tired.

“I’ll make a note of it,” the man – who sounded unbearably young – had said. “It’s in your file. You can deal with it once you get here.”

With a few notes scribbled on the back of a requisition form, she’d stumbled out of the administration building and into the uneasy night.

The roar of the insects from the jungle was almost unbearable. Because it wasn’t drowned out with the typical sounds of humming chopper engines or pots and pans clattering in the mess hall.

Dead silence.

Except for the hum of a generator – and a radio – from the tent hastily erected at the other end of the camp.

Nobody – staff or patient – wanted to sleep in their normal beds tonight. Nobody felt like sleeping.

She had nowhere else to go.

And so she approached the tent, body screaming with fatigue, belly aching with hunger, heart irreparably cracked.

It appeared that Murphy the cook, bless him, had resurrected whatever food he could find. From the light of a few random bulbs, he served a hodge-podge to the exhausted men and women sitting on random chairs and picnic tables and whatever could be quickly salvaged by the able-bodied patients.

Forty or so people milled about – eating, sitting, speaking in hushed voices. Numb.

One soldier turned up the radio – the Armed Forces Network, no doubt.

Claire had only heard the song a few times – but immediately recognized it. The haunting guitars punctuated the deep black of the night, the impenetrable jungle all around them. Tonight, she was in another world.

“No reason to get excited // the thief, he kindly spoke // There are many here among us // Who feel that life is but a joke.”

Jamie waited for her, off to the side. In seconds she was beside him, sitting against the back of a supply crate, turned into him for comfort, his nose in her hair.

He breathed the next lyrics against her exquisitely sensitive skin.

“But you and I, we’ve been through that // and this is not our fate // So let us not talk falsely now // The hour is getting late…”

She kissed him again, there in the half-dark.

His lips echoed her pain and anguish. How she craved a home, and stability.

And love.

And him.

“Will I ever see you again?”

He swallowed, thumbs caressing the apples of her cheeks.

“You have a husband.”

“I don’t love him.”

He swiped her tears away. “But you’re still his.”

“I’m yours,” she insisted. Fierce.

“It’s not right.”

“I don’t care.”

He swallowed. Someone coughed nearby. Now Jim Morrison’s voice filtered through the huddled mass of refugees.

The time to hesitate is through…

“I’m going back to Lallybroch. It’s quiet there. On the top of a mountain. My family has lived there, farmed there, since before the Revolution – when they fled Scotland after the ’45. But it’s rural.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“*I* would. You wouldn’t be able to keep your career, Claire – it’s so far from the nearest clinic. I could never do that to you – I can’t deny you your calling.”

“Jamie – ”

“No, Claire. Do you remember my vow to you? You must go back. Back to your life – your place. Back to your husband, and the things you’re used to. It isn’t right, otherwise.”

A beat.

“Promise me you’ll look forward. Not backward.”

He was right, of course. So she nodded – she couldn’t argue with him.

But she could – and did – bring his mouth back to hers. Again, and again, and again.

Try to set the night on fire…

And when she woke, it was to an MP’s hushed voice.

From her position tucked against his side, she felt the rumble of Jamie’s response. He sat up, and she blinked wearily – body stiff from sleeping on the hard ground.

He stood – offered her a hand. She grasped it, stood – and he kissed her forehead.

Wordlessly she followed him and the MP in the dawn light – weaving through boxes and overturned chairs and countless men and nurses sleeping on the floor of the makeshift tent.

She heard the whirring blades of the chopper before she saw them.

Rupert MacKenzie stood waiting on the tarmac. He saluted Jamie.

“I’ve come to take you to Saigon,” he shouted over the roar.

How could he be so chipper, so early in the morning?

Jamie shook hands with the MP, saluted Rupert – and turned to Claire.

His eyes – fathomless – shone with tears. Her heart lurched, realizing he believed this would be the last time he ever saw her.

Her heart spoke the only words she knew to be true.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you.”

“And I, you,” he mouthed.

“Goodbye, Claire.”

Then he saluted her and turned to follow Rupert into the chopper.

Claire and the MP stepped back, watching the chopper rise up to the heavens – and into the sunrise.

He was gone.

She staggered – and the MP caught her.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

If she kept her eyes shut, she could almost touch the edges of oblivion.

But she’d made a promise – and had to keep it.

So she stood, back straight. And turned to the young, kind MP.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, feeling her heart wither and die within her chest. “Perfectly fine.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/153176874867/imagine-jamie-and-frank-meeting-and-strange) on tumblr

**original prompt** : Imagine Jamie and Frank meeting and, strange enough, not being completely hostile with one another.  

* * *

 

Claire wrapped her hands around the blue and white striped coffee mug, eyes watching the milk swirl countless tendrils into the coffee.

“…was thinking that we could drop by the Reverend’s this afternoon – he called while you were in the shower. Apparently he’s dug up more papers about Black Jack and his role in the Revolution.”

Frank paused to sip his tea.

“You’ve always gotten along so well with his housekeeper – so at least you’ll have someone to talk to while we’re busy in Reg’s study.”

Claire’s thumbs traced the chips along the mug’s lip, listening to the man in the booth behind them place his order. Completely disinterested in Frank’s personal history – but willing to humor him, and encourage his hobby. Anything that prevented them arguing about the war again.

“Sure – my shift at the hospital doesn’t start until four.”

Movement at her side – and another person slid in, right next to her.

“Are you sure you don’t want her spending the afternoon with me instead?”

Jamie’s voice.

“You know she ended up pulling a double yesterday – she’s probably still tired. And she needs to spend time studying for the medical school exams, anyway.”

Claire glanced up. Jamie was wearing a nice button-down shirt – and nice slacks. His hair was a bit longer.

“Only if it’s no trouble.” Frank bit into his toast.

“It’s no bother – don’t worry, I’ll take care of her. Bring her back to you safely.” Jamie slung an easy, comfortable arm around the back of the booth – but carefully kept his distance from Claire.

Claire tried to speak – but realized she had no mouth, no voice.

“…still looking into the history of that bastard of a great-grandfather? Didn’t he single-handedly kill off an entire company of rebels?”

“Well, even if that’s the case – he still led a distinguished military career. It’s actually what inspired my own service – a desire to continue the tradition, so to speak.”

Her pulse elevated – her breathing quickened. She self-diagnosed a panic attack.

Jamie waved a hand at the waitress. “Some coffee, please?”

Then he laughed at something Frank had said.

Claire’s ears rang – her heartbeat impossibly loud.

She tried to scream – but couldn’t.

Absolute paralysis.

The room swirled.

And then she sat bolt upright, hand clutching her heart, breaths rapid – throat sore from screams.

With shaking hands she reached for and flipped the switch on the bedside lamp – flooding the small, dingy room with sickly yellow light.

Rain pounded on the windows – just like it had in Chu Lai.

Then it all flooded back –

Jamie floating away on the helicopter.

Her own dreamy chopper flight to Da Nang, three days later.

Not sleeping for three days as she and the other nurses and doctors from Chu Lai waited to receive their next orders.

Finding the one sergeant on staff who took the time to call Saigon and help her put in her request for a discharge.

And waiting another week for the approval to come through. While all those around her slowly settled in to their new lives.

But how could it ever go back to being the same? Now that she had zero desire to heal other patients – she couldn’t, not when her own heart was irreparably damaged.

Jamie had given her the gift of her own life – and she would not throw that gift away.

While she waited for the approval, she sent Frank a telegram. Telling him that she was going back Stateside – and that they needed to talk.

And just an hour after her discharge approval was granted, she heard from her husband for the first time in five months.

WILL NOTIFY MY SUPERIORS AND REQUEST R&R.

No salutation – no sign-off.

It had taken almost four months in all. An overland journey to Saigon where the dashing young Marine who had gladly served as her chauffeur cheerily drove the car around known land mine areas.

Then – after three weeks there – a long journey on a military transport to Honolulu.

Followed by two weeks at a base there, before hitching another flight to San Diego.

Then to Washington.

And finally, a short drive to Fort Holabird, on the outskirts of Baltimore. HQ for military intelligence.

And an absolute hellhole.

The whole place smelled rotten – literally, due to the bourbon distillery next door.

On account of being Frank’s wife, the quartermaster had found a room in the guest barracks. At least it had a real mattress – or what had once been a real mattress.

It was the week before Christmas, and beastly cold.

Frank would arrive sometime in the next few days – not like she could pry an exact date out of these Intelligence types.

So Claire could do nothing but wait – and spend her hours in the base’s library, which seemed to be the only building that was regularly kept clean and up to fire code.

Researching medical schools. If she worked hard, she would be able to meet all the January deadlines, and her GI Bill would definitely defray most of the costs. Joe Abernathy was still in Da Nang – but he’d already mailed her twenty recommendation letters, to send along with all her applications.

And when she wasn’t researching schools – or leafing through every single Vietnam story in Time, Newsweek, Life, and any other publication she could get her hands on – she mulled over just how to resume her life as Mrs. Frank Randall.

It was the right thing to do. It was what Jamie wanted her to do.

Jamie – the small pinpoint of light. The one thing in her life that had been selfless – wholly, truly good.

Claire rubbed the sleep from her eyes and squinted at the clock radio on the grimy bedside table.

4:30 AM.

Thunder crashed outside.

There would be no more sleep tonight.

So she flipped on the FM radio –

“Outside in the cold distance a wildcat did prowl // Two riders were approaching, and the wind begins to howl…”

Memory surged – Jamie’s eyes, so close to hers – blue and unfocused. The taste of his mouth against hers, the night of the attack – holding her close as they lost themselves in the dark, in each other – and in this song.

She flipped over, threw the pillow over her head, and screamed her anguish into the sagging mattress.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/153563808530/close-your-eyes-ill-be-on-my-way) on tumblr

Claire squinted at her handwritten notes scattered across the battered desk, fingers furiously clacking away at the smooth keys of a typewriter that was likely older than her.

“…privileged to gain over 1,500 surgical hours assisting Dr. Joe Abernathy as the Head Nurse at the 91st Evacuation Hospital in Chu Lai, South Vietnam. In this position I played a crucial role in performing surgeries on gravely wounded servicemen fresh from the battlefield, and also ensured the basic hygiene of the operating rooms amid challenging tropical conditions and a chronic shortage of basic medical supplies. I also supervised the post-operative treatment of many patients and ensured that the nurses under my command carried out the appropriate follow-ups. Finally, I assisted Dr. Abernathy in determining when – or whether – a patient would be ready to return to combat.”

She hit the return key, paused, and rolled the stiffness out of her shoulders. Early afternoon sun slanted through the dusty windows as a Jeep rolled by outside.

Claire had been fortunate to secure one of the few vacant offices attached to the Ft. Holabird library – with Christmas just around the corner, many of the Military Intelligence officers who normally occupied the space had gone home to be with their families.

Nurse Claire Randall’s putative family would arrive at the base any day now, fresh from wherever he had been posted all these months. Not that he – or his brother officers in the Ft. Holabird administration building – would tell her.

She’d completed applications for three medical schools – one in Pennsylvania and two in Massachusetts. Four more for schools in Virginia, New Hampshire, North Carolina, and New York needed to be completed and mailed in before the first of the year – but given that she could easily modify her essays and already had blanket letters of recommendation from both Joe Abernathy and Ned Gowan, it wouldn’t take much longer to complete this first step to launch the next chapter of her life.

Just how Frank fit into this new life was something she’d turned over and over in her mind for the two weeks since she’d arrived in Baltimore. Military Intelligence always kept its men on the move – Frank had never been tied to any particular location since he’d gone in three years before. The Army wouldn’t pay for an apartment or house for Claire to live in while Frank was away – not now that she’d been discharged, anyway. So she didn’t particularly *need* to be where he was.

But would he want her to be where he was? Or at least, to be somewhere close to where he would be stationed next?

There was so much for them to talk about.

She sighed, and turned back to the typewriter.

“I am confident that these experiences make me uniquely qualified for your program – ”

The door to the tiny office slammed shut. Claire jumped up in her chair and whirled to face the doorway – she hadn’t even heard the handle turn, the damn ancient typewriter was so loud –

“Claire.”

A man stood ramrod straight in the doorway, head tilted, appraising. His dress uniform hung perfectly from his frame, collar crisp above his smattering of ribbons, tie neatly tied. The deep-cut lines on his face perfectly framed his thin lips, pursed, thinking. Watching.

It was the face of a stranger.

But that voice –

Adrenaline surged. She slowly stood, rooted to the spot.

“Hello, Frank.”

She blinked harshly, then felt her legs step around the desk. Bringing them closer.

They watched each other – waiting to see who would make the first move.

Claire raised her chin. Swallowed. And pasted a smile on her face.

“It’s good to see you.”

She extended her left hand – and he saw his ring glint on her finger – and enveloped her fingers in his cold, cold grasp.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/153689620189/im-standing-here-outside-your-door) on tumblr

All he’d told her was that he and his CO had just arrived from somewhere on the West Coast. He would be in Ft. Holabird for exactly four days. And then he had to go back.

After all – there was still a war on. Even if it was Christmas.

It was surreal to walk with him back to the tiny room that had been her entire world for the previous two weeks. To watch him lay his suitcase on the bed and hang up the coat of his dress uniform in the closet. To ask her conversationally about how she had been since she’d arrived, whether his colleagues had been helpful, whether she’d been out to explore Baltimore at all.

In turn, she had asked him about his flight from the West Coast. Whether he had any interest in exploring the city, now that they were together and he was officially on leave.  

He didn’t.

Then he sat on one edge of the bed – and she sat on the other. He was still wearing his dress uniform.

God, they were strangers to each other. How in the hell was this going to work?

“You know that my discharge has been approved?”

“I do.” He turned toward the window as a helicopter buzzed overhead – and she saw the glints of silver in his buzz cut. When had that happened? Had he had that the last time they’d seen each other, more than a year before?

“And what do you think about that, Frank?”

He turned to face her, lips pursed. “You’re an intelligent woman, Claire. I know you had to have had a good reason for it.”

She smoothed her skirt across her knees. “I *do* have a good reason. I’m applying to medical school – I’ve been working on my applications since I arrived.”

“Medical school?” His brows rose – not in disdain, but in genuine surprise. “I thought you were happy with being a nurse.”

“I am – I was. But being in that field hospital – the way things worked out, I took over many responsibilities that a doctor would normally have. Chu Lai was chronically short-staffed.”

“Yes – I’ve heard about that. Damn Viet Cong disrupt the supply lines.”

She swallowed, not wanting to meet his eyes – but forcing herself to. They were still the familiar eyes she remembered looking so reverently into hers as they recited their wedding vows, four years before. His eyes were still as beautiful as they had always been.

But something was different now.

Was it him – or her?

“Chu Lai was attacked, back in August,” she said softly. “25 VC, all at once. They destroyed several buildings and killed over 20 Americans.”

Frank reached out toward her – but pulled his hand back. Hesitant.

“Yes, Claire – I know. I read the report as soon as it came over the telex.”

She swallowed.

“I’ll also have you know – I personally ordered Military Intelligence to track down who had masterminded the attack. And we did.”

Claire nodded, feeling suddenly very far away from this conversation. Over Frank’s shoulder, she watched snowflakes drift outside the window – but all she could see was the bullet-riddled palm tree in the middle of the hospital compound.

“We found the bastard who ordered the attack – and apprehended him in Cambodia. Stopped two more attacks from happening.”

A beat.

“Why didn’t you contact me afterward, if you knew that Chu Lai had been attacked?”

He licked his lips. “Claire – you know I couldn’t. Doing so would reveal my location, and you know that I could never – ”

“Could never check up on your wife? Not even – ” She paused, taking a deep breath. No use to get angry about it now, when it was a lifetime ago. Not when it felt like it had happened to a completely different person. Not when she needed to let go of that pain, and find a path forward with Frank – this man who was her husband.

“I wanted to make sure you were safe, Claire. And that others would be safe as well. And I did.”

There was nothing more they could say to each other about it. He wouldn’t tell her more details. She wouldn’t say half the words at the tip of her tongue – words of blame and worry and fear and accusation. Words of anguish and disbelief and self-doubt.

She no longer wanted to expose herself – to share her dreams and hopes and fears with him. Like she once had.

Not with this man – this man who hadn’t experienced anything with her.

But she had to be stronger than this. She had to – for their marriage to survive.

For them to begin their lives anew.

“So I’m applying to medical school. It’s what I want – it’s what the doctors I worked with advised I do. After Chu Lai – I’m done with the Army. I need to focus on myself.”

Her heart screamed. She reached across the worn bedpsread to lay a hand on Frank’s knee.

“I need to focus on you, Frank. And you need to focus on me. And *we* need to focus on each other.”

She scooted closer. He remained frozen in place.

“We need to get to know the people we’ve become, Frank. I’ll say it if you won’t – we’re both different. The war has changed us. And we need to *talk* about it.”

His mouth opened and closed. He swallowed.

Suddenly nervous, the words tumbled from Claire’s lips.

“I’ll talk about it if you won’t, Frank. I know this is awkward. I know my goal of medical school isn’t something we ever talked about. But I’ve changed – and this is what’s important to me now. But we need to talk about how *we* can make this work. How *we* can support each other despite our diverging careers. And –”

“Claire.” His voice had a cold, hard edge. He pushed her hand from his knee.

“Claire. I’m so very grateful that you’ve made these plans without me. Because I need to tell you – no. I need to ask you something.”

Her brows furrowed. “Anything,” she breathed. “What is it?”

She remembered this moment – this last peaceful moment that would ever exist between them – for the rest of her life.

He sighed. And spoke.

And it all came tumbling down.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/154081114135/already-im-so-lonesome-i-could-die) on tumblr

Strange, the things you remember. Single images and feelings that stay with you, down through the years.

Like the moment Claire realized that her marriage to Frank Randall was over.

Her mind jumped and danced from thought to thought as Frank told her everything.

Or at least – what she hoped was everything.

It was true that his work prevented him from contacting her. From contacting anyone outside his division. As a result, it forged very close bonds with the people within Military Intelligence.

And in this case, extremely close bonds.

“A stenographer, Frank? Really?”

He looked down at his hands.

How come she hadn’t realized before that he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring?

“She was there, Claire. I have had to make some excruciatingly difficult decisions. I couldn’t talk to my CO about it. I couldn’t talk to my colleagues about it.”

“But you *could* tell her.”

He clenched his jaw. To his credit, he looked up at her and met her gaze squarely.

“I could. And I did. And Claire – Claire, this has absolutely nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me.”

The windowpane rattled as a truck drove by outside, plowing the snow-covered road.

Plowing a furrow right through what precious little remained of Claire’s heart.

“Are you fucking serious, Frank? I’m not stupid. Don’t give me the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit.” She sprang to her feet and turned away from him, peering out the window at something – anything – as long as it wasn’t his face.

“I’m stronger than that, Frank. I fucking *deserve* more than that.”

“You do, Claire. But it’s the truth. I swear to you – it’s the truth.”

Claire watched two MPs hitch a plow up to the front of a Jeep, get back inside, and slam the doors shut.

The windowpanes rattled again.

Behind her, Frank’s breaths were shallow.

She turned to face him. God, he looked sick in this terrible yellow light.

God, she felt sick just being in the same room as him.

“But an annulment, Frank?”

He nodded. “Yes – it’s the best way forward for us, Claire. We can petition the Church and then it will be quickly behind us. I don’t want to go to court. I don’t want to argue over what meager possessions we have – ”

“I don’t give a fuck about any of that, Frank. You know me better than that.”

He rested his head in his hands, digging his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know you anymore, Claire. And you know that as well as I do.”

Everything came into focus with those two short sentences.

“But an annulment – Frank, that’s saying that our marriage never officially happened. I – I can’t - ”

“It allows you – and me – to one day remarry in the eye of the Church. It will be quick and easy in our case – the priest will understand. Just think about it, Claire – in all the time we’ve been married, how many weeks have we actually spent together?”

Claire’s hands gripped the windowframe, feeling the cheap paint crumble in her hands. “This is a convenience for you, Frank. An easy way out. Don’t think I don’t see that.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She shook her head. “I’m not even dignifying it with a response. Because you’re giving up. Hasn’t everything I’ve said to you this afternoon proven to you that I’m willing to fight for you, Frank? That I’m willing to fight for our marriage? To do whatever the hell it takes to make it work?”

“You’re going to medical school, with our without me. It would be so much easier without me.”

“You didn’t even let me tell you that I’d be willing to go to school wherever you were stationed!”

Finally her voice rose to match her anger and indignation and impatience with the whole damn situation.

“I would have postponed it if it meant I could spend more time with you, you bastard! But you’re shutting the door in my face before I’ve even had a chance to explain myself.”

“You have your own plans, Claire. I don’t want to get in the way of them.”

“Bullshit,” she seethed. “Bullshit. You don’t want to even try to make this work.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

Memory surged – the first time she’d seen him do that was right before he’d proposed to her. That magical, far-off day when they were young and foolish and she was so, so naïve and didn’t care that he hadn’t given her a diamond to seal his promise.

“Claire – to be honest, I don’t. I have a woman waiting for me back on the west coast. I want to do right by her. I want to be married to her more than I want to be married to you.”

So this was how a marriage ended.

She wanted to hurl the bedside alarm clock at his head.

But instead she nodded, waiting for tears that never came.

Because to cry would indicate that there was emotion felt – and that the thing that was lost was worth mourning.

This thing – this marriage – that had been lost was not worth anything.

“Well then,” she rasped, hands on her hips, feeling so calm. Uncannily calm. “I want you to take care of all the paperwork for this annulment. I want you to pay for it. I want access to the storage locker where our things are kept. And then I never, ever want to see you again.”

“I can do that.” His voice was small. He was a shell of the man she thought he was.

Had he ever truly been the man she thought he was?

“And now I want you to get out of this room, and explain to your CO why I will be staying here indefinitely, until I hear back from medical schools. Because you have conveniently left me with nowhere else to go.”

“Claire – ”

“No, Frank. I was willing to make a life with you. To make a home with you. I flew halfway around the world for you, for something that I wanted. But if you don’t want it, then I sure as hell don’t want it.”

He stood and shuffled to the closet, retrieving his coat. He stood with his back to her as he buttoned it.

She strode across the room and opened the door.

He turned to retrieve his bag, then approached her.

“You’ll get in to every school you apply to. They’ll recognize your gift, Claire. I envy you, that you have such a calling.”

He was trying.

She didn’t care.

“I don’t want your envy. I don’t want anything from you, anymore. I wanted to give you everything, Frank.”

He shifted the bag on his shoulder. “I know, Claire. I’m sorry.”

“And I don’t want your apologies, either.”

He nodded. “I deserved that.”

For a long moment they looked at each other.

Claire’s right thumb and forefinger reached for her left hand, slid off his gold ring, and held it out to him.

“I don’t need this anymore.”

He secreted it away in the pocket of his dress trousers. Emotionless.

“Merry Christmas, Frank. I hope she makes you happy.”

Something flickered across his face – but then hardened.

“I wish you happiness, Claire. You deserve it.”

“I make my own happiness, Frank.”

He entered the dimly-lit corridor and faced her for the last time.

“You always have.”

Then he walked right out of her life.

She didn’t even stay in the door to watch him reach the end of the hallway.

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp locked the door behind her, leaned against it, counted to ten, and exhaled.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/154292243797/imagine-after-claire-she-admitted-that-she-love) on tumblr

**original prompt:** Imagine after Claire she admitted that she love Jamie/ they are madly in love already, she had an accident and she lost her memory of him and all she remember is going back to Frank.

* * *

 

“Claire, you could you be a dear and pass me the sweet potatoes?”

Claire Beauchamp set down her fork and reached for the half-full dish beside her plate. “Here you go, Gail,” she smiled, swallowing her mouthful of roasted goose.

Gail Abernathy nodded as she took the dish. “Thank you, sweetie.” Ten-month-old Lennie, happily making a mess of his first Christmas dinner, squawked in his high chair and reached his grubby hands for more potatoes.

“No, honey,” his tired mother sighed as she helped herself and then passed the dish to her husband. “Lord knows you’ve got half your dinner in your hair already – thankfully I didn’t dress you up in that cute little suit your well-meaning but absolutely clueless father decided to get for you.”

Dr. Joe Abernathy huffed as he cut into his own helping of roasted goose. “I want my boy to look proper for his first Christmas, is all. At the rate we’re going with kids these days, it may be the last time we’ll be able to get him into a suit.”

Claire sat back in her seat and sipped her wine, smiling at the comfortable banter that always existed between Joe and Gail. Having them so close had been an absolute godsend since she’d started at Boston University Medical School two years before – knowing nobody in Boston and absolutely nothing about living in the city.

It had been a completely fresh start – and Claire had absolutely thrown herself into her work and studies. Her professors all knew she had served – and seen more in her nine months as a nurse at Chu Lai than many of her classmates had ever seen in their entire lives – and their esteem of her had only grown over time. Claire Beauchamp was in the top five percent of her class, clearly destined for great things.

Having Joe – who had returned to his private practice – and Gail, and now little Lennie, so close had done so much to ease the hole in her heart that her divorce - *annulment*, she mentally corrected – from Frank had caused. Joe was not only her mentor, and sole source of encouragement while she devoted all her energies to learning anatomy and physiology and patient care – he was the one link she still had to Chu Lai, and what had prompted her to finally apply to med school in the first place.

It was so refreshing that nobody at BU knew about her personal history – nobody knew that she had been married. They knew the basic facts of her past – parents dead in a car crash at age five, raised by an eccentric uncle who had died right before she joined the service, and then just over a year spent as a nurse in Viet Nam. But nobody knew about Frank Randall. And Claire wanted to keep it that way.

She hadn’t heard from him since she’d signed all the paperwork required to formally annul their marriage – the paperwork which said that, technically, their marriage had never officially happened. Frank had kept his word, giving her access to the storage locker in New Jersey where they’d decided to store their few joint possessions, and taking care of all the paperwork with the Church.

The papers had arrived one day after she received her final acceptance letter. Claire Beauchamp had been accepted by every single medical school she’d applied to.

And she’d be damned if she let Frank Randall steal her joy.

So on the same day that her signature had officially dissolved her marriage, she’d sent in her acceptance letter to Boston University.

Joe had been thrilled for her, of course – she suspected he’d secretly hoped she’d pick the school closest to him. He had been such a rock for her, for so long – and moving to Boston was almost like coming home.

New beginnings, indeed.

“Have you given any more thought about what you’d like to specialize in, Claire? I know you’ve still got a year and a half of school left, but it’s never too early to start narrowing your options and making some connections.”

Claire set down her wineglass and turned to Joe. “Well – I don’t want to do peds. Or any of the typical specialties – like dermatology, or OB/GYN, or even internal medicine. I want to do something with the brain.”

Joe sat back a bit in his chair, chewing thoughtfully. “You’re *always* doing something with that brain, Claire,” he teased.

Gail playfully swatted at her husband’s shoulder. “Stop, you,” she laughed. “Claire – you always work so hard. We want to make sure that you have a plan, honey – we want to make sure you’re set up for success.”

Claire smiled, heart suddenly full with so much love and appreciation for these two people – who loved her and supported her more than almost anyone ever had.

Almost.

“*Anyway,* I was thinking about brain damage and how it affects speech. To work with people who have suffered brain damage, and help them recover their ability to communicate. To speak.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic, Claire!” Gail exclaimed, turning to wipe mashed peas from Lennie’s cheeks. “Is there any reason in particular why you’re interested in that area?”

Yes, there was. Of course there was.

Claire had taken the gift she was given, that night in Chu Lai when everything fell apart. She had never looked back – not when there was so much to look forward to.

But somehow, he was always there. His heart when she saw a couple blissfully walk by on the street, holding hands. His face when her eyes crossed after a long day of assignments and practicals. His voice when her muscles ached after standing for ten hours straight while she volunteered at the clinic. His mouth when she lay sleepless in her cold, empty bed.

She hadn’t had the proper tools and training to treat him then – but she’d be damned if she couldn’t one day provide a superior level of care to people in similar circumstances.

She coughed. “Just based on some of my experiences at Chu Lai – and I know there are so many men coming home from Viet Nam who have suffered such terrible brain injuries. With proper treatment they can fully regain their ability to speak – and I want to be there to help them do that.”

Joe gave her a pointed look – but said nothing.

Claire absently swirled the wine in her glass – Gail took that as an invitation to top it up.

“Mo!” Lennie insisted, not liking being left out of the conversation. “Mo!”

Gail tsked but handed him a piece of bread with the crust torn off. Lennie squealed with delight and began ripping it apart with his tiny fingers.

“You know, Claire – when I did that stint in Da Nang I got to know this guy who had taught at a speech pathology program.” Joe helped himself to more stuffing. “Not just teaching people with brain damage how to communicate – but looking to help repair some of that damage, so that they could communicate better.”

He paused, tilting his head. Appraising.

“Would you be interested, Claire? Spring break will be here before you know it – I’m sure he’d love to meet you. You could learn a lot. It’s some pretty cutting-edge stuff.”

Gail nodded at Claire, encouraging.

“Sure,” Claire replied tentatively, not exactly sure where this was going. “That would be great, Joe. Where is it?”

“App State – Appalachian State University. Down in Boone, North Carolina.”

Joe affected nonchalance.

Claire’s heart stuttered – mind flashing back to when she’d furtively read Captain James Fraser’s medical file a lifetime ago, before Chu Lai was attacked.

Born 1946 – aged 23 at the time. Both parents dead – only living relatives were his uncle and sister. A sister with whom he shared a PO box in Boone, North Carolina.

She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t look back.

She had to see him. Yearned to know how he was doing – what he had been doing. Whether he ever thought about her.

She spoke her answer without even thinking.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. I’ll go.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/155723242825/burning-out-his-fuse-up-here-alone) on tumblr

Claire smiled at Bobby Higgins, who returned her grin and even gave her a small bow.

*Thank you,* he signed.

After four days at Dr. Beaton’s speech pathology clinic, she had picked up enough ASL to understand what Bobby was trying to tell her. Corporal Higgins had barely survived a mortar attack in Viet Nam – costing him his right leg, inflicting disfiguring burns on the left side of his face, and resulting in significant brain trauma. That he was able to walk – with crutches – was a miracle. That he was also able to communicate, in a strange hybrid of sign language and speaking short, simple words, was nothing short of miraculous, testament to the dedication of Dr. Beaton and his team.

Bobby was just twenty two. He would struggle for the rest of his life. But he was stubborn, and determined. And clearly very kind.

“You are so welcome, Bobby. It’s been so delightful getting to know you this week.”

Claire watched Bobby carefully blink, then swallow, preparing his voice.

“M-m-m-may I wr-wr-wr-wr-write?”

She flashed another smile. “Of course! Here – let me give you my school address. I’d *love* to hear from you and I can’t wait to see your progress!”

Scribbling her address onto a piece of scrap paper and tucking it in the front pocket of Bobby’s overalls, she helped him to his feet and walked with him toward the door. His wife Amy waited outside – they had married right before he shipped out, and had two-year-old Orrie to keep them busy. Claire had learned all about them in her work with Bobby this week – and, just like it had been the previous three days, her heart clenched to see the look of ecstatic joy on Amy’s face when she saw Bobby come to her in the waiting room.

Yes, Bobby had a long road to recovery – but he also had a fabulous support system to keep him on the right track.

With a final pat on the back, she stepped aside, letting Bobby cross the room on his own to Amy, and sink into her embrace.

Quietly Claire returned to the clinic, now strangely silent that Bobby had gone home. She had learned so much working with Dr. Davie Beaton and his patients this week – the doctor was truly doing some pioneering work, and at Appalachian State in North Carolina, of all places. He had welcomed her with open arms, allowing her to dive right in and learn directly from the very people whom she hoped one day to treat.

Dr. Beaton had about twenty patients at his clinic – the vast majority of which were returned veterans. Several people who had suffered quite traumatic car accidents rounded out the rest of his clientele. He sought to not only study their brains and understand the root cause of their language difficulties, but also to develop a custom program to help them regain their ability to communicate.

In Bobby’s case, it was a mix of speech and ASL. Bobby wasn’t the same man he had been before his injury, but he had clearly come a long way in the six months he had been working with Dr. Beaton. And Claire saw near-identical results with all the other patients.

Dr. Beaton was truly having an impact. Just like she wanted to have an impact, once she completed her education.

Just like she knew she’d had an impact on one man, from Boone, three years ago in a humid hospital in Viet Nam.

No. She had resolved to not think about him until the week was through. Her flight back to Boston wasn’t until Monday morning – leaving enough time over the weekend to…to do what? Find Jamie Fraser? Think about not finding him?

Claire swallowed. Her suddenly shaky fingers smoothed the creases out of her scrubs, heart suddenly racing.

“Claire?”

Startled, she looked up to meet Dr. Beaton’s kind eyes.

“I’m sorry – could you repeat that?”

Dr. Beaton was in his late sixties – his research had started with servicemen returning from World War II, continued with veterans from Korea, and now he worked with the boys returning from ‘Nam. He’d done a short stint in Da Nang, where he’d worked with Joe Abernathy and been able to put some of his work into immediate practice for the injured servicemen he’d met.

Claire had taken an immediate liking to him – not only for his skill, and for the fact that he hadn’t cared she was female, but mostly because she reminded her of her dear, dear Uncle Lamb. Lamb, the kind-hearted, scatterbrained, socially awkward elderly uncle who had raised her almost from birth. Whose death had precipitated an existential crisis that had ended up with her hasty marriage to Frank – seeing him as a port in the storm.

Oh, the irony.

Dr. Beaton smiled at Claire. “I was just saying – you are truly gifted with these patients. Especially the veterans – I think it helps that you served, because they can relate to you in a way that’s hard for me to do.”

Claire blushed. “Thank you, Doctor – and again, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity to work in your clinic. I’ve learned so much, I don’t even know where to begin.”

He sat, and gestured for her to take a seat as well. “I was wondering – would you be interested in attending the campus veterans’ support group? It’s mostly attended by returning soldiers who need just the emotional support – they’re not physically injured, I mean. But as I’m sure you know, the emotional wounds can run quite deep.”

She nodded, and watched him fish a crumpled flyer from his coat pocket and slide it across the table. “Here is their information – I believe they’re meeting tonight, if you’re up for it.”

Claire carefully unfolded the paper. The mimeographed message was simple – peer support, veterans helping veterans. Coffee and donuts would be provided.

Then the name of the organizer caught her eye.

“Murtagh Fraser? Is he a student?”

Dr. Beaton laughed. “Oh he was – but he’s close to my age now. The Frasers have been a pillar of Boone since well before the Revolution – and they’ve been attending App State since it was founded. Murtagh served in World War II and then came here on his GI Bill, but he’s always hanging around in some form or another.”

Why did she feel so dizzy?

“Why do you ask?”

Why, indeed.

“I served with someone at Chu Lai whose last name was Fraser – and his uncle was General Dougal MacKenzie.”

Dr. Beaton was visibly taken aback. “The Great Scot’s nephew? Well, that would be Jamie Fraser. He’s a local hero, you know – won a Purple Heart and Silver Star on the same day.”

“So I heard,” Claire said softly. Was that her voice?

“Anyway – Jamie got out of the service a few years back and comes to the group sometimes with Murtagh. He volunteers a lot in town with the different veterans’ groups – he’s really wanted to give back. He’s got a bit of Murtagh in him, for sure – but also he’s so much like his father, Brian. Brian and Murtagh were cousins, and they fought together in the Pacific. Horrific stuff.”

Claire nodded absently, then rose.

“Thank you, Dr. Beaton – see you tomorrow?”

“Of course – have a good evening, Claire. Alec will be in tomorrow – I know he’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

She nodded, grabbed her coat, and quickly exited the room.

And walked straight back across campus to her tiny hotel room, where she locked the door behind her and placed her hand on top of her racing heart.

He was here. Jamie was here. He could be here tonight.

She wasn’t ready.

She would never be ready.

She couldn’t just…walk in to a room with others. She had to see him – but wanted to do so on her own terms.

For her sake – and for his.

So she yanked out the drawer from the small bedside table, pulled out the phone book, and dialed Information.

“Hello, Operator? I need the actual street address for PO Box 1746 in Boone, North Carolina…”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/155950342777/more-vietnam-au-pleeeeeease-i-need-to-know-whats) on tumblr

Claire idly tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she waited for the traffic signal – hanging limply from an overhead wire, swaying gently in the warm breeze, a sparrow jauntily perched on top – to turn green.

Saturday morning. Not too early, but not too late.

She hadn’t slept. Agonizing over what to wear, what to say. What to want.

And what *did* she want? To be Jamie’s…love interest again? Or simply to bring him news that she was well?

It didn’t matter anymore. If the motel’s kind receptionist was to be believed, this was the final turn-off before Beauly Boulevard – the only access road to the vast Fraser estate.

Once Dr. Beaton had told her about the long and illustrious Fraser history in Boone, suddenly she saw the name everywhere. In the handprinted tag attached to a skein of yarn in the small gift shop near her motel (“Would you believe that the wool is grown right here in town, on the big old Fraser farm?”); in the mom-and-pop hardware store (“We still call it Fraser’s even though they sold off the business right after the war”); even in the name of the town’s small library (“Fraser Memorial – yes, *those* Frasers. The money was donated way back in the 1800s in memory of the Frasers who had died in the War Between the States, and the Revolution, and even back to some old war in Scotland before they all came over and settled in the mountains”).

It was a grand name – a proud name. And the kind people in the village usually followed up their anecdote with a comment or two about the current Frasers. She had learned that Jamie had a sister – Jenny – who was married with a few children of her own. That Jenny and her husband ran the farm, even though Jamie owned it – had inherited it after their father died about five years back. That Jamie was a war hero, of course. But quiet about it – never wanted to draw too much attention to himself. Which was a shame, because he was *such* an eligible bachelor…

Claire jolted as the truck behind her gently tapped on its horn. Blinking harshly, she looked up at the signal – green – and pulled her car forward.

Just as the receptionist had said, Beauly Boulevard was the first right after the intersection. She turned onto the unpaved road, slid her sweaty palms further down the steering wheel, and breathed.

Gravel crunched as the car gently climbed a steep hill. All of a sudden she was in the middle of a forest – surrounded by greens and browns and pine branches and an overwhelming stillness.

Peace.

The road curved around to the left, and the grand old manor house came into view.

Three stories. Beautiful tall white columns. Black shutters. A porch scattered with empty rocking chairs.

Sanctuary.

One more gate – stone, with “Fraser 1768” and a coat of arms carved into one side. Claire squinted out her window to read the motto.

*Je suis prest.*

She swallowed, pulled the car into an empty spot beside a worn but well-kept pickup truck, and cut the engine.

I am ready. But ready for what?

Claire grit her teeth, reached to the passenger seat for her purse, and stepped out of the car.

It was an old house, to be sure – and had clearly been added on to over the years. But the additions were tasteful. The house wasn’t overpowering – even though the family who built it and still lived in it commanded great power and respect.

And then a child laughed somewhere inside – and the house became a home.

Her home?

Softly, quickly Claire climbed the steps and pushed the doorbell.

Somewhere inside, footsteps pounded and doors slammed.

Suddenly self-conscious, Claire patted her hair and straightened the collar of her coat. Too late now.

The door flung open, revealing a small, dark-haired woman clad in jeans and an apron. An infant slept snug against her chest.

The woman stood back a bit, hands on her hips. Impatient.

“How may I help you?”

Claire’s heart had floated out of her body. She had rehearsed these words so many times – and now it didn’t matter one bit.

“My name is Claire Beauchamp. I’m looking for Jamie Fraser.”

The woman openly eyed Claire up and down. Appraising. “Jamie’s up at the barn just now. Is he expecting you? You’re not from around here.”

Claire slid her sweaty hands into her pockets. Lint stuck like glue to her fingers. “No – no he’s not. I – I served with Jamie in Viet Nam. I’m visiting the area this week and thought I’d stop by.”

“Did you, now? He doesn’t speak much about it.” The baby fussed, and she lay one soothing hand against its back. Her wide, practical wedding ring flashed in the late morning sunlight.

Claire held her ground, meeting the woman’s gaze. Not challenging her – but proving herself. Proving her worth. “I treated him when he was injured. At the Chu Lai field hospital.”

For the briefest of moments, the most extraordinary look came across the woman’s face – but then it was gone. And Claire wasn’t even sure that it had truly happened.

“Well then. He’s at the horse barn, looking at the harnesses. Do you want me to take you, Ms. Beauchamp?”

“No – no, thank you.” It was Claire’s voice, but someone else had to be speaking. “Can you just please tell me how to get there?”

“Of course – it’s just up the hill, around the rear on the right side. You can’t miss it.”

Claire nodded and pasted a thin smile on her lips. “Thank you – ”

“Oh! How rude of me. I’m Jenny Murray – Jamie’s sister. This is my youngest, Maggie. And let me be the first to welcome you to Fraser’s Ridge – and Lallybroch.”

Claire gratefully shook Jenny’s extended hand, and nodded, and quietly walked down the steps and around the back of the house.

Just a few more steps.

Her feet weren’t touching the ground.

This couldn’t be real.

So many outbuildings – all old, but all well-maintained. Constructed of solid, honest stone with just the barest hints of modern upgrades.

The barn wasn’t as big as she thought it would be – but then again, what use did a modern farm have for horses, anyway?

Moss coated the damp stones of the barn, where the doors stood open. Claire padded over and into the old building, footsteps silent on the carpet of leaves and wood chips.

It wasn’t just one large room, but rather one main room with a series of smaller chambers branching out – old stalls, undoubtedly. Quiet. Peaceful – just like the rest of this place.

A rack to one side held various accoutrements associated with horses: saddles, bridles, bits. Old posters were tacked up on the opposite wall – even folded and yellowed with age, she could tell that they were for equestrian shows.

The door to the back stall was open. Claire slipped past the other stalls – to her surprise, full of horses – and followed the sound of a hammer.

Finally, finally she arrived at the back stall. Bent over a saddle mounted on a wooden block, his back turned to her, was Jamie.

“Is that you, Jenny?” he asked, not turning around. He was dressed in jeans and a simple button-down, and had a tool of some kind in his hand, with which he was doing something to the leather of the saddle. “Took you long enough. Did you get the – ”

“It isn’t Jenny,” Claire said. Her voice was higher than usual. “It’s me. Claire.”

He straightened up very slowly. His hair was longer than the last time she’d seen him – the ends brushed his shoulders, but he didn’t choose to wear it up.

Then he turned around – and they stared at each other, not speaking.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/156448309299/where-art-thou-vietnam-au-update) on tumblr

Time stopped.

Claire’s eyes – wide with fear and excitement and so many feelings she couldn’t even begin to name – bored into Jamie’s.

Even more blue than she remembered. Clear. Honest. Yet hints of dark shadows lurked beneath.

Her heart thrummed with worry – was he sleeping properly? What was troubling him?

He swallowed. She traced his Adam’s apple with her eyes, as it disappeared beneath the open neck of his soft, faded flannel work shirt.

He dropped whatever he had been holding. It clanged dully on the straw-covered floor. Only then did she notice the splint on his hand.

“When did you break your finger?”

Somehow her feet were moving. She had to get closer to him.

He tore his eyes from hers – glanced down at his hand in shock – and then bravely met her eyes again.

Smiling so brightly, with the warmth of a thousand suns.

“I’ve broken it several times since I last saw you. It’s been fragile since the accident.”

She reached for him now – with her left hand. So that he could see it was naked.

Carefully, tenderly she caressed his hand. Examined the splint. Gently pressed down on his knuckle, checking for inflammation.

He was perfectly still – but his pulse raced beneath her fingertips. Its frenetic pace matching her own.

“Always caring for me,” he breathed.

Without a thought – and as if they’d done it a thousand times already – Claire pressed her palm against Jamie’s. Their fingers twined.

So natural.

Then she looked up at him – this man who she’d tried so hard to push from her mind. The man who was of her, within her, so deeply.

“I want to care for you always,” she offered.

He settled his other hand at her hip. Winding his finger through the empty belt loop of her jeans.

“You’re real,” he breathed. “I’m not imagining you again? Are you truly here? Now? With me?”

She stepped closer in the circle of his arm. Lining up her feet to touch his work boots. Rubbing her nose against the delightful stubble of his chin.

“I’m real. I’m here. I’m so, so sorry it’s taken me so long.”

He pulled back a bit. Lovingly examined her face.

“It doesn’t matter.”

A soft, soft touch on her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered closed. Trying to keep the dream alive.

Jamie moved his face closer. Kissed Claire’s forehead so softly, so reverently that tears sprang to her eyes.

“Don’t be afraid,” he breathed against her mouth. “There’s the two of us now.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/157196543193/more-vietnam-au-please) on tumblr

Claire blissfully settled back a bit on the bench, resting her head against the whitewashed siding of the barn, watching a red squirrel scamper through the clearing and chase a gray squirrel up a fir tree.

Jamie’s Fraser forebears had built a few stalls in the 1760s. Right after the main rooms of the Big House – Lallybroch, after the estate they’d lost in the Highlands following the disastrous ’45 Rising – had been completed. Governor William Tryon had given another James Fraser a spectacular land grant, which still formed the core of the family’s farm and landholdings. They had farmed this land – poured their blood and sweat into the dirt and trees and fields – for more than two centuries.

And prospered.

How she enjoyed just listening to Jamie’s rich, melodious voice spinning incredible tales of valor and love and sacrifice. Without breaking a beat, he handed her an apple from his rucksack – exchanging it for the remaining half of the roast beef sandwich Jenny had made him this morning – smiling at how she’d chewed around the tomato slices.

“Not a fan, hmm?” he teased.

Her teeth crunched around the apple. “Never liked them – too slimy.” Smiling.

“I’ll have to remember that, then.”

She didn’t think her heart could beat any faster.

“And then Simon Fraser, my grandfather, decided to expand the whisky operation – we still use the caves he carved out to age the bottles. Murtagh always talks about going more commercial, but I prefer keeping it all in the family.”

It had probably been several hours since they’d been able to stop just staring at each other, and Jamie had led Claire by the hand into the sunshine outside the barn.

Suddenly shy around each other, Claire had grasped at something – anything – to keep them talking.

“Tell me about your family?” she asked gently, gesturing toward a bench tucked against the side of the barn.

And then he’d laughed.

What she wouldn’t give to hear that every single day for the rest of her life.

“How many generations back?” he’d teased, eyes flashing. Still holding her hand.

“Your parents will do.” Her thumb caressed his injured hand. Carefully. Gently.

“Ach, no way! I’ll tell you the entire history of this place. It’s in my blood, you see?”

And it was – it clearly was. Never had she seen anyone so proud of his family – and what so many generations, united for the same purpose, had accomplished.

So they had spent the next several hours talking – and laughing – and genuinely getting to know each other for the first time. Jamie was a born storyteller – charming, witty. Flirtatious.

And as the hours passed – and they shared Jamie’s simple yet delicious lunch – they began to relax.

They did not discuss why Claire had come. What she had been doing. What Jamie had been doing, since they’d parted on the helicopter pad at Chu Lai.

That would come. But now – now they celebrated the simple fact that they were with each other again.

It was overwhelming. Claire had had weeks to mentally prepare – Jamie had had no notice.

“Don’t you have chores?” she asked after a while – now that lunch was over, Jamie’s rucksack tucked away, and their hands had found each other again. “Don’t you need to fix that saddle, or whatever you were doing when I interrupted you?”

He shrugged, eyes facing forward out into the forest. So quietly green and lush. The woods he had grown up in.

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore. You’re here.”

Claire pursed her lips – sensing an opening. She turned on the bench to face him directly.

As always – he was right there to meet her.

“What happens now, Jamie?”

He took her left hand between his, tracing his thumb around the base of her ring finger. Eyes strong on hers.

“Why have you come, Claire?” His voice was soft, vulnerable. “To tell me you’re well – or so that we could make a life together?”

“I’m not married anymore,” she breathed. “I went home to him, like you asked me to. It took me until Christmas to see him. And I told him we would move forward, as husband and wife.”

She closed her eyes – suddenly overcome with shame.

Jamie waited.

Patient.

Giving.

Tears trickled from her eyes. “He told me he had fallen in love with someone else – and that our marriage was over. He didn’t even want to try.”

A soft, soft touch on her cheek.

Jamie’s lips, kissing the tears away.

Kissing the apple of her cheek. Her nose. Her forehead.

Cherishing her.

Infusing her with strength.

She opened her eyes – and he was right there in front of her.

“We got an annulment. And I got into medical school, in Boston.”

Jamie had such a beautiful smile.

“And then I had a chance to come down to App State – to work with Dr. Beaton. I want to help people find their voices – to help them heal from tragedy and injury. To help them find themselves.”

She twined their fingers together.

“You have a knack for that, Claire,” he breathed. “You can do *anything* you set your mind to. Don’t you know that by now?”

He held her eyes. She felt invincible.

“I do,” she said after a long while. “I do.”

“Good. But Claire – you didn’t answer my question.”

She shifted a bit on the bench. “I don’t think it’s only my decision, Jamie – it’s yours as well.”

He licked his lips, dropping his gaze to his knees.

“My life is yours, Claire.”

She reeled back – stunned.

“I – Jamie, I – you can’t – ”

“Yes, I can. And I will. You saved my life, at Chu Lai. You restored me to myself. I owe you a debt. So it’s up to you to decide what we shall do – where we go next. My heart has been yours since the first time I saw you, and you’ve held and healed my soul and my body between your two hands – and kept them safe.”

None of this was real. Real people didn’t talk like this.

But Jamie was real, all right – more real than anything had ever been to her. More than Frank – more than school – more than anything else that had ever mattered in her life.

“Do you know what I was saying to you, all that time when I was locked in my mind? When my mouth couldn’t form the right words?”

He nudged his knee with hers, getting her to look up. To see the tears shining in his own eyes.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. Tell me?”

He tilted his head. “I was telling you how beautiful you are. How you remind me of the fairy stories my Mam told me as a child – of the sorceress who bewitches the mighty warrior. The kelpie who comes from the sea to claim a human man as her love. The enchantress whom the brave hero is compelled to fall for.”

He took a deep breath. “And then I’d tell you of my home – of here, Lallybroch. And how I knew you’d fit right in to life here – how happy we would be here, together. Of the life we’d have, if things were different.”

Claire’s cheeks pinked at his words – at the praise she felt she did not deserve. “What do you mean, if things were different?”

“If I’d met you at a different time or place. If you weren’t married. If I could court you properly, the way you deserve.”

He straightened his back, licking his lips.

“So. I will ask you a third time, Claire. Why are you here?”

Preparing himself for anything – including rejection.

But those were words that would never fall from her lips.

The next words she had asked him so many times in her dreams. It was the most natural thing in the world.

“Will you have me?”

An extraordinary look of terror and joy and jubilation flashed across his face.

He grabbed her hands, kissing them feverishly.

“Yes,” he rasped. “Yes, I’ll have you.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/157615791341/omg-i-love-the-vietnam-au-finally-the-reunion) on tumblr

“Stuffed cabbage, Claire?”

 

Claire turned to her left, meeting the kind brown eyes of Ian Murray – Jamie’s best friend and brother-in-law.

 

“Sure – is it grown here on the farm as well?”

 

Ian served her a good-sized helping. Jenny – at her right – poured a bit more wine into the tall glass by her plate.

 

“Most of the simple vegetables come straight from the kailyard – always have, as long as we can remember. Nothing is as fresh to us. Or as rewarding.”

 

Claire took a tentative bite, keeping her eyes firmly on the gorgeous old dinner plate – clearly used only for special occasions – as Jamie’s foot silently nudged hers beneath the table.

 

Somewhere around three that afternoon, Ian had hobbled down to the barn – he had lost his leg in a childhood car accident, Jamie later explained – finding a doubly rare sight. Jamie Fraser was idle – and Jamie Fraser was in the company of a woman.

 

That he had somehow, sometime told Jenny and Ian who she was had been clear – but just exactly what they knew about her was not. She had helped Jenny and the kind housekeeper Mrs. Crook prepare dinner – over Jenny’s protests that a guest should rest – seeking the opportunity to quietly introduce herself to Jamie’s sister, and needing the time away from him to just reflect on her whirlwind day. She had had months – years – to prepare. He had had no notice, and yet had taken it all in so gracefully.

 

Had pledged himself to her, fully. Unequivocally.

 

Would she do the same for him?

 

She’d immediately accepted his offer of a place to stay for the night. Jamie had proudly shown her to one of the beautifully apportioned rooms on the second floor of the Big House – Lallybroch – sharing incredible stories of the many Frasers whose blood and sweat had been poured into the very stones and floorboards of the house since before the Revolution.

 

Light streamed through the windows of the room that was to be Claire’s – the hand-carved bed covered in a worn but exquisite blue bedspread that had been quilted by Jamie’s grandmother MacKenzie; two plush armchairs of a 1940s vintage cozily angled before a small fireplace; on the wall above the bed, a vibrant watercolor of the Big House amid the glowing orange leaves of autumn.

 

“There should be some spare clothes in the bureau,” Jamie remarked softly, remaining just inside the doorway as Claire quietly acquainted herself with the room. “And my Mam painted that when I was small. We have her drawings and paintings up all over the house.”

 

From her position at the window, admiring the kitchen garden and small orchard of fruit trees clustered near the old outhouse, Claire turned to smile at him. “Do you paint?”

 

He shrugged. “I’ve tried. But Jenny has the real talent for it – some of her pieces are downstairs.” He paused, licking his lips. “Well then. I’ll be down in the study with Ian. Have some orders to straighten out for tomorrow. Will – ”

 

“I’ll be all right,” she reassured him. “Thank you, Jamie. Truly.”

 

His smile – small, glowing – was absolutely beautiful. “Thank *you*, Claire.” Then he turned and disappeared down the hall.

 

“The apples in that pie you helped me with come right from the orchard – great-grandmother Fraser planted them, right after the War Between The States,” Jenny continued. Claire snapped back to the present as the toe of Jamie’s boot curled around the back of her shin.

 

“I’m normally not much help in the kitchen, but you’ve all been so incredibly warm and generous – ”

 

“Nonsense,” Ian insisted, tearing up a piece of Mrs. Crook’s thick homemade oat bread – a bannock, Jamie had called it – for his three-year-old son – Jamie’s namesake holding court at the worn but homely kitchen table between his father and uncle. “You’ve made Jamie smile again. Lord knows that’s been a rare sight since he returned from ‘Nam.”

 

Jamie withdrew his foot – and Claire looked across the half-empty portions of roasted pork and Brussel sprouts and corn bread. Meeting his intense blue gaze. Hoping her eyes could convey everything her voice could not.

 

–

 

Apple pie and whisky before the fire in the sitting room – lined floor to ceiling with books dating from the 18th century all the way up to shiny new editions of Slaughterhouse-Five and In Cold Blood. Comfortable silence between them when Jenny and Ian departed to tuck the children into bed. And then when Claire had yawned for the fifth time, Jamie rose, banked the fire, and helped her rise from the couch. Then gently led her upstairs to the room that would be hers for as long as she wished. Holding her hand the entire time.

 

They paused in the doorway.

 

“Will you be warm enough? There are extra blankets in the hallway closet – ”

 

Claire rested her hands on his solid shoulders. “I’ll be just fine. I’m not fragile, you know.”

 

He settled his hands on her hips, eyes creasing with happiness in the dim light of the hallway. The silence of the house buzzed in their ears.

 

“I know you aren’t,” he breathed.

 

Then drew her close – holding her. Enveloping her. Feeling her melt against him – her heart thrum in time with his.

 

After a long while she pushed back, kissed the corner of his mouth, and quietly slid out of his arms.

 

“I’ll be right here, down the hall,” he whispered. Eyes dark.

 

She blew him a teasing kiss, then quietly swung the heavy oak door shut.

 

On both sides of the door, Jamie and Claire rested their foreheads against the wood. And sighed.

 

–

 

Despite her exhaustion, Claire slept fitfully. Tossing and turning on the heavenly soft mattress and under the almost sinfully warm quilt. So many images flashing through her mind – the bullet-scarred palm tree on the helicopter pad at Chu Lai; the faded anchor tattooed on the forearm of her anatomy instructor; the checked shirt Uncle Lamb loved to wear when presenting his latest findings to a group of his peers. The graceful, invisible shapes Jamie had traced with his hands as he shared stories about himself and his Fraser forebears – helping her learn about all the gifts he would give her.

 

Did she belong here? Could she belong here – the lady of this great house? Sharing such a well-respected name? Enjoying dinner every night in the rustic kitchen built two centuries ago, surrounded by so many Frasers, alive and dead? Quietly at peace here on the ridge which Frasers had called home for longer than Beauchamps had been in America?

 

No.

 

Yes.

 

Perhaps.

 

The house groaned and settled around her – easing into sleep.

 

Except the shuffle of steps in the hallway. Pausing outside her room, then continuing down the stairs.

 

At least she wasn’t the only restless person tonight. Jenny, perhaps? Maggie was still nursing – perhaps just another late-night feed?

 

Claire wrapped the tartan blanket – Fraser colors, Jamie had told her – from the foot of the bed around her shoulders, draped over the App State t-shirt and flannel pants that had been neatly folded in the bottom drawer of the bureau, gently pushed open the door, and stepped downstairs.

 

Only one room to visit at this time of night – the parlor, where books and the warmth of the fire could lull even the most restless to sleep.

 

But it wasn’t Jenny who sought solace, deep in the night.

 

Jamie stood after adding a fresh log to the fire, rubbing his face with his hands, clad in an olive-green Army-issued t-shirt and worn white long johns.

 

Claire must have made a sound – for his head snapped up, startled.

 

“Can’t sleep?”

 

His wide, sweet mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You could say that. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in three years.”

 

Claire blinked harshly in shock. “You mean – ”

 

“Yes – since Chu Lai. I – well.” He swallowed, grasping for words. “I re-live all of it every night.”

 

She crossed the room to stand in front of him. Rested a tentative hand on his elbow. “Tell me?”

 

He did. Terrible storied of men blown to pieces. Villages burned. Dead livestock floating face-down in rice paddies. The faces of men he couldn’t save. Memories of pain, and anguish, and isolation.

 

“And the worst one –” his voice broke.

 

At this point they had curled up together at the corner of the couch, her legs tucked against his, sharing the warmth of the plaid. She squeezed his clammy hand. Encouraging.

 

“The worst one is when the VC attack Chu Lai – and I can’t find you, Claire. I can’t protect you. And then I’m scrambling down the hallway and they’re firing at me and I trip over your body.”

 

He wouldn’t look at her – preferring to stare into the hypnotic flames.

 

She wiped the tears from his eyes. Stunned.

 

“Have you ever told this to anyone?” Her fingers twined in his hair, damp with sweat. Bringing his face to rest in the curve of her neck.

 

All he could do was shake his head. Breathing hard. Burrowing closer to her.

 

“Nobody here understands. I’m a war hero. The owner of this estate. I’m not supposed to be scared. I’m not supposed to have a back twisted with scars. I’m not supposed to be terrified of going to sleep every night.”

 

Claire eased onto his lap. “Shh,” she soothed. “I’m here. Just let go, Jamie.”

 

He inhaled deeply. Shakily.

 

“Let go,” she repeated. “I understand. I’m here. You don’t have to pretend.”

 

A beat.

 

Then –

 

“I love you.”

 

His awed, red-rimmed eyes lifted to meet hers. Smiling through the tears.

 

Then her lips found his – and they clung to each other in desperation and joy.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/158273831638/vietnam-au-come-baaaaaaaaaack) on tumblr

Claire nuzzled against Jamie’s palm and slid her face closer to his on the pillow.

He responded by weaving his legs in between hers underneath his great-grandmother Fraser’s quilt. The soft blue light of dawn filtered through the muslin curtains of the laird’s bedroom – just enough for her to see him smile and close his eyes. Contented as a ginger cat.

Under no circumstances were they to be parted from each other after their mutually earth-shattering revelations in the parlor downstairs. And it was late, and the couch was a bit cramped, and they were already dressed for bed – so Jamie had wordlessly stood, offered Claire his hand, banked the fire, and quietly led her up the stairs and to the bedroom at the end of the hallway.

He had been conceived and born in that room – as had his father before him, and his grandfather before that, and countless other generations of Frasers. He had officially moved into the room after his father had died – and softly told Claire that she was the first woman he’d share the bed with.

Jamie’s thumb now stroked her cheek – gently, reverently. And Claire couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to sleep beside him on this mattress every night – to watch him smile in his sleep, to be held so closely by him that his heartbeat echoed against hers, to quietly lay by his side as they listened to the first larks chirp a cheery good morning outside. To conceive her own children – Jamie’s children – protected by the souls of all the Frasers that had gone before her, and then grip Jamie’s hand nine months later as she graced the sacred walls with yet another Fraser to carry on the tradition. Fulfilling the promise of his ancestors.

All in a rush she wanted these things. And she wanted them with Jamie. She couldn’t wait to have them with Jamie.

But how would they make it work? She had to finish school, she had to go back to Boston –

No. Not today. Let today be for quiet celebrations – for the love she had been brave enough to find again with this man.

“Speak to me,” she breathed.

And somehow he knew she meant not in English – but in Gaelic. The tongue of his ancestors. The language he had used to fall in love with her.

Eyes still closed, he moved closer to bump the tip of his nose against hers. She closed her own eyes, feeling the rush of warm air against her lips, the deep rumble of his voice within his chest. Imagining they were on a farm in the Scottish Highlands in the eighteenth century, waking to a hazy dawn, sharing secrets beneath a quilt, nestled safely away from the world.

His voice was the second most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

For the most beautiful sound was the half-laugh, half-moan that formed deep in his throat when she interrupted his speech with a long, slow kiss.

Today they had all the time in the world.

–

The larks had been joined by a cooing dove, now that the sun had crested over the horizon. Jamie’s arms had locked around Claire, burying his nose in the curls at the crown of her head as she lost herself in the magic space in the crook of his neck. Breathing each other in. Still not believing this to be real.

She whimpered when he pulled away – but he kissed her forehead in reassurance and slipped out of bed. She watched him pad over to a chest of drawers on the other side of the room, rummage around in the drawer the top, and secret something small in the palm of his hand before quickly crossing back to her and sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“Can you sit up for me, Claire?”

Puzzled, she did.

He held out his hand, and she extended her own palm.

To feel the rough oblong shapes of a freshwater pearl necklace.

“They’re North Carolina pearls,” he said softly, voice far away. “They belonged to my mother. Now they belong to you.”

Carefully she unwound the strand, cradling it between her palms.

“They’re one of the few things I have left of her. Very precious to me.”

Then he lay a gentle hand on her knee, and she raised her eyes to lock with his.

“As are you, Claire.”

His face was eager – serious – yearning.

Love surged in her heart, and tears welled in her eyes. Quietly she wound the pearls around her neck, did the clasp, and settled the strand against her bare collarbone.

Jamie said nothing – eyes full of fire.

She pushed back the quilt, shifted onto his lap, and kissed his shoulder. Then the side of his neck. Then the square angle of his jaw.

“As are you, Jamie,” she whispered against his mouth.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/158551195884/you-cant-leave-vietnam-au-like-that-we-need-to) on tumblr

“This is the day the Lord has made,” Murtagh FitzGibbons Fraser intoned from the lectern of St. Bride Church. “Let us rejoice and be glad.”

Jamie sat up a bit straighter at the end of the front pew, twining his fingers through Claire’s, exchanging a small smile with his godfather.

For as long as anyone could remember, every Sunday morning the Fraser-Murray clan had attended eight o’clock Mass at the church their forefathers had built at the turn of the nineteenth century. Just a ten minute drive from the Big House, it had originally served just the family and tenants of the Fraser estate. Jamie, Jenny, and Murtagh were the only Frasers remaining in the area – most of the extended family had moved to Asheville or Raleigh after World War II – but those three stubborn Frasers had held strong.

Jamie and Jenny’s parents had been married at St. Bride’s. The three Fraser children – including the eldest child, Willie, who had died of smallpox when Jamie was small – had been baptized there. Murtagh – who lived in his own cottage on the estate with his wife Suzette, who he had brought home from France after landing on the beaches of Normandy – ran the lector program. Jenny and Ian had been married there, and Young Jamie and Maggie in turn had been baptized there.

And as Claire rose with Jamie, watching Father Kenneth kiss the Word of God, smile out at the congregation, and begin reading from the Gospel of Luke – she saw herself and Jamie standing before the priest at the altar. And standing off to the side below the gorgeous stained glass window of Michael the Archangel, just behind the baptismal font, gently holding a fussy newborn while reciting the baptismal promises. And exchanging proud smiles with Jamie as a beautiful red-haired girl received her First Communion. And holding Jamie’s trembling hand as they watched a handsome red-haired boy be confirmed.

This was her place. He was her place.

“Thanks be to God,” she whispered. Serene.

–

“I was thinking of taking Claire up the mountain – to the old cabin. I can check on it, and maybe bring back a bottle or two for dinner?”

Murtagh chewed thoughtfully on his pancakes. “I haven’t been up there since the fall – would be good to make sure it’s gone through the winter without any major damage. Take note of what would need a repair, all right?”

Claire nodded her thanks as Suzette poured another cup of steaming coffee. “What’s the old cabin?”

“It’s the house that was built before this one – on the highest part of the Ridge.” Jenny wiped maple syrup off Young Jamie’s face with the corner of her blue-and-white striped napkin. “It’s just a few rooms – we haven’t updated it much over the years, except added a generator for electricity.”

“We stay there overnight sometimes when there’s a lot to do in the whisky caves,” Jamie added, serving Claire another slice of Mrs. Crook’s excellent bacon before nibbling on one himself. “It’s where we let the bottles age. We only take them out once a year, to sell them to the restaurants and bars in town – but I want to find a good one for us to enjoy tonight.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’ve got Jamie smiling again, Claire,” Ian said quietly from across the table. “And Lord knows, Jenny and Murtagh and Suzette and I have been trying to do that since he got back from ‘Nam.”

Claire dropped her eyes to her lap, cheeks flaming. Under the table, Jamie lay a gentle hand on her knee, squeezing softly.

Murtagh coughed.

“Well then. Can you pass the strawberry jam please, my dear nephew-in-law? These bannocks won’t eat themselves.”

–

Fresh air. Pine. The soft, damp smell of decaying leaves. Flashes of green as the first grasses and flowers shot up from the forest floor.

And Jamie – solid and quiet beside her, never letting go of her hand, silently savoring the stillness.

It had been about two hours since they’d left the house – Jamie toting a backpack full of snacks from Mrs. Crook, Claire wearing Jenny’s pre-pregnancy jeans and hiking boots. They hadn’t spoken very much on their journey – both lost in their thoughts, both afraid to pierce the quiet with the sound of their voices.

“It’s just up over the crest of this hill,” he said softly, after a while.

“How can you even tell where we are? It’s just trees and more trees,” she teased.

He flashed a brilliant smile. “My father started taking Jenny and Willie and I hiking in these woods as soon as I could walk. He’d take me up to the caves and let me play with the spare pieces of wood while he and Murtagh and my grandfather Simon sorted the bottles. Believe it or not, there are plenty of landmarks along the way – trees and rocks that you’ll recognize in time.”

In time.

For Claire would be coming back.

Right?

They hadn’t talked about it – hadn’t even broached the topic. But it was Sunday afternoon, and Claire’s plane ticket back to Boston was for tomorrow morning.

Panic surged.

Jamie – ever perceptive – stopped as they crested the hill.

There it was – a small cabin, simply shingled and with just a few windows. It was immediately clear why the first Frasers had chosen to build there – for the ground in front of the cabin gently sloped into a grassy clearing.

“There used to be a barn here as well, but it was gone even before my grandfather was a boy. This place – it’s always been a refuge. A – well. I knew a guy in the Marines whose parents were German, and he told me of something called a ‘fridstool.’ A private place where you can be alone with your thoughts.”

Claire turned to meet Jamie’s eyes. The one-o-clock sun streamed on his face, sparking his hair like fire.

“And you’re OK taking me here? To your private place?”

He sighed and settled his hands on her hips, turning her to face him. Licked his lips, and burned his eyes into hers.

“I want to share *everything* with you, Claire. Here – in my most private place. Where we can pretend we are the only man and woman in the world.”

Another surge – but this time of love. And want.

And need.

“Yes,” she replied to his unspoken question. “Of course. Yes.”

He swallowed, and smiled, and gently led her down the hill.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/158706246624/hi-new-ish-outlander-fan-here-i-found-your-fic) on tumblr

It was understandably a bit musty inside the cabin – and Jamie immediately set to work airing it out.

“Here – help me roll up the shades? Let’s get some light in here.”

Jenny hadn’t exaggerated – there were only four rooms. A large living area with an open hearth, what appeared to be two bedrooms, and a study/library. All the furniture and decorations were dated, but clean – well-kept. Taken care of.

“Do you come up here often?” She stepped to one side of the living area, eyes lighting on a large survey map mounted on the wall.

“Not since the fall. But I came here a lot right after I got back from Chu Lai. I needed – well. I needed time. And space. I did a lot of thinking.”

And then he was there, right behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, head resting on her shoulder.

She melted against him.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here with you,” she whispered into the wall. “I’m sorry – ”

“Sshh.” His breath tickled her neck. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

Then she turned around. And locked eyes with him. And bit her lip.

Tension crackled.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I want you.”

His eyes closed – almost as if he couldn’t believe her words.

“I want you in my life, Claire. Now. In every way. For always.”

Then his eyes opened – brave. Unafraid.

“And God knows I want you – more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Do you feel the same?”

“You know I do,” she breathed.

“Then will you do something for me?”

Her brows furrowed. “Anything.”

He nodded, thinking.

“I want to handfast with you. It’s – it’s a Scottish tradition. We pledge ourselves to each other – and it’s valid for a year and a day. After that time we can part – or we can formally marry.”

“I don’t understand – do we need a priest or something? Why didn’t we do it at church?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “We do it just the two of us. It’s valid because we say it is. And in the eyes of God, it – it blesses us. Blesses our union. Because I want God to bless us, and protect us. And provide for us. Because He knows I prayed every single day for you to come back to me. And He delivered.”

Claire blinked back tears.

“Yes. Yes, of course. What do I do?”

He took her hands. “I’m going to make my vow to you – and then you can make yours to me. And then – one more thing. And then – then, we go to bed.”

She nodded. Quickly. Heart somewhere in her throat.

“I, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, take thee, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp…”

It all happened in slow motion.

Jamie’s vow to her.

Her vow to him.

They sealed their vows with a kiss. And then – then he asked for her wrist. Pulled out his pocketknife – scored a shallow cut across her wrist. Held out his own wrist for her to do the same. Then pressed his cut to hers.

“Say the words after me,” he whispered.

Then he spoke in Gaelic – it was yet another vow. She didn’t understand it – but she *felt* it so much deeper than what they had just exchanged in English.

And Jamie’s eyes were so soft and dark and intense on hers.

And then another kiss.

And then they stumbled to one of the bedrooms, and Jamie struggled out of his jacket, and Claire lay a calming hand on his chest.

“Sshh. It’s just me. We don’t have to do this if it’s too much.”

And then Jamie straightened up, focused, and took proper care of his bride.

–

The orange sunlight of late afternoon sliced through the lace curtains that must have been made before the War.

Claire sighed, so content, legs still tangled with Jamie’s under the old plaid blanket, hands gently caressing the scars on his back. He made a small sound and tightened his grip – burying himself even deeper inside of her. Her lips parted in a silent gasp.

“Are you *sure* you’ve never done that before? Because Jamie – ”

“Well I seemed to learn a *lot* after the first time, hmm?” he laughed, sucking on her neck, delighting in her shiver. “I have a most excellent teacher.”

“It’s so, so good with you.” Her voice rose higher in pitch as he slowly, slowly began rocking back and forth. Teasing. “I – I had no idea it could be this good.”

“And just think – we can have this every day for the rest of our lives, Claire.” He kissed her swollen lips – the tip of her nose – her eyes, brimming with tears.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Jamie. I – ”

“Hush, *mo graidh.* Hush. Let me love you again.”

Slowly he eased her onto her back, and helped her lose all sense of space and time.

–

“You can’t go out there with no clothes on!”

Jamie briefly glanced over his shoulder to give Claire a withering look. “Who’s around to care? Just a few deer. Maybe a mountain lion or two. And you, but last time I checked you rather liked seeing me naked.”

Claire theatrically rolled her eyes and followed him, naked, across the living room as he opened the front door.

“I know it’s nice out – but don’t you feel the slightest bit cold?”

He darted back inside, grabbed her hand, and dragged her over the threshold. “Not when I have you to warm me!”

Her laugh echoed from the fir trees circling the clearing right outside the front of the cabin.

“And where is this cave, anyway? Some of us haven’t been hiking bare-assed through the woods since we were in diapers.”

“It’s right – oh! Perfect!”

Jamie abruptly halted and Claire crashed into his side. “What is it?”

He bent, plucked a small plant from the ground, and held it out to her. “I remember these from when I was small – wild strawberries.”

Sure enough, a small red fruit hid under the sparse green leaves.

“How lovely.” Claire plucked the berry from the stem and tasted it.

“Look – there are so many of them here.” His voice was suddenly choked – and she looked up at him in concern.

“Jamie? Are you all right?”

“It’s a sign, Claire,” he said softly, voice breaking. “The strawberries – they’re our symbol. The Frasers. Well, it’s what my Da always told me – that our surname comes from the French, when a Monsieur Freseliere came across from France with King William, and was granted land in the Scottish highlands for his trouble.”

“You mean William the Conqueror?” Claire’s voice was incredulous. “I had heard that Scots have long memories, but still – ”

“But Claire – it’s March. Strawberries here in the mountains normally don’t start until April. It’s a sign, Claire. It’s a blessing from God. It proves that you’re meant to be here.”

Gently Claire gripped his forearms – the hairs glowing in the afternoon sun – and turned him to face her. Then gently she lay him down on the grass, amid the strawberries, and sat atop him.

“I love you, Monsiuer Freseliere,” she said softly, and then took him inside her.

“Je t’aime, Madame Freseliere,” he groaned.

–

“Where have you been? Murtagh was just going to go out looking for you – you forgot the walkie-talkie, you idiot!”

But neither Jamie nor Claire took heed of Jenny’s haranguing. For Jamie simply bent to kiss his sister on the cheek as Claire pulled a bottle of whisky from the backpack and set it on the table.

“The ten-year! You’ve gone for the good stuff,” Ian observed, eyeing Murtagh’s faded scrawl on the label. “May I ask why?”

“We’ve handfast,” Claire replied. “We’ll marry as soon as I finish school.”

Murtagh let out a whoop so loud that wee Maggie, snoring in her playpen in the parlor, burst awake in tears.

But amid the cheers and kisses and hugs exchanged by the Fraser-Murray adults, nobody seemed to mind.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/159018923581/vietnam-au-32-caught-in-the-act)

“How long does it take a person to wash the dishes?”

Jenny frowned as she turned the corner into the kitchen - to find her younger brother all but wrapped around Claire, lost in a kiss.

Neither looked up, or even acknowledged her presence. Blissful.

All Jenny could do was lean around them, turn off the tap before the sink flooded over, grab the half-eaten dish of coffee cake from the counter, and return to the dining room, where she could hear Murtagh and Ian clinking tumblers to toast yet another round of the ten-year.

After all, she thought with a smile - it wasn’t every day they could celebrate an engagement.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/160372137694/more-vietnam-au-please) on tumblr

Claire Fraser didn’t realize she had dozed off until the mattress dipped beside her.

She blinked in the candlelight – Jamie had insisted, shyly telling her that he had wanted to watch how it threw shadows over her face while they made love in his bed for the first time. In a split second she had seen the faces of countless Fraser men and women – Jamie’s ancestors – who had lived (and loved) by candlelight in this room for two hundred years.

Jamie didn’t go far – just to his desk on the other side of the room. He bent to unplug something – giving his wife the most perfect view of his posterior – before returning to the side of the bed.

It was a small clock radio – and, now that it was plugged in, he smiled at her and fiddled with the dial.

“What kind of music do you want?”

Claire edged up a bit on her elbow. Ellen Fraser’s pearls softly clacked between her breasts. “Do you get anything except country-western down here?”

He threw her a withering look, but continued twisting the dial.

“We’re not *that* far out – in fact, there – ”

They froze.

That song –

“No reason to get excited // the thief he kindly spoke // There are many here among us // Who feel that life is but a joke…”

Claire threw her arms around Jamie’s shoulders.

He clung to her for dear life.

“Outside in the cold distance // A wildcat did prowl…”

She felt his heart stutter beneath her own –

“Two riders were approaching // And the wind begins to howl…”

His nails dug into the bare flesh of her hips. Anchoring her to him.

Her mouth sucked on his neck – tasting the dirt and sweat and pine needles of their afternoon together.

“I listened to that song so many times that I wore out the 45. But I wasn’t brave enough to buy a new one.” His voice was so far away, his eyes seeing not the plaster on the wall but rather the fathomless night of the jungle surrounding Chu Lai. Those precious hours they had spent together after the attack – the only time they knew they’d ever have to be honest with each other, when he was hers and she was his and he just didn’t give a damn about anything anymore.

Claire locked her legs around his hips, and pulled back from his neck. “Every time it came on the radio, I had to change the station. I – I wasn’t brave enough to listen. To feel. To remember.”

Goosebumps prickled his flesh.

“But Claire,” he rasped. “You and I – that wasn’t our fate. It’s done now. It’s in the past. Here we are. You’re my wife.”

“Yes,” she whispered, straightening up to find his eyes – so dark now in the candlelight. “And you’re my husband.”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Oh, God. Yes.”

His mouth was fire and desperation and HOME.

Gently Claire rolled them back to the mattress, helping Jamie settle his hips between her legs.

“Does it ever stop, Claire? The wanting you?” he murmured, threading his fingers through hers, licking the side of her neck, biting her chin.

And then he was inside, and they cried out at how good it was.

“I – Jamie –” she gasped, willing her eyes to stay open, tangling her fingers in his hair.

“*Seas, mo nighean donn*,” he stuttered. “I know. *A Dhia.* I know.”

After a while, the clock radio harmlessly, soundlessly skidded from the mattress to the thick carpet covering the wood floor.

“I’ve been to Hollywood // I’ve been to Redwood // I crossed the ocean for a heart of gold…”

Jamie dropped Claire’s hands and pushed himself up on his elbows. Claire’s head jerked to her left, eyes shut, gasping for ecstasy.

“I love you, Claire,” Jamie sobbed. “I love you.”

Her back arched. “…love you…” she panted. “…so much…”

“Keep me searching for a heart of gold // I’ve been a miner for a heart of gold…”

His mouth fused with hers, and they peaked, and they knew it would never stop.

—–

[Jimi Hendrix - All Along The Watchtower](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DTLV4_xaYynY&t=OTNkYjA4ZTJiMDc3Zjc0MmFiMjgxNDRkMDhhM2I4ZmRlNWJmMmQ0ZSwyTmJZRlZmRQ%3D%3D&b=t%3A3P1iDiJS-o_zACFmLNnnBQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fimagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F160372137694%2Fmore-vietnam-au-please&m=1)

[Neil Young - Heart of Gold ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DX3IA6pIVank&t=ZTg4YmJmNTYyZmI4YzI0YmYyZGM5NjUxYjI5N2I3MGJhZjZhMGY0MCwyTmJZRlZmRQ%3D%3D&b=t%3A3P1iDiJS-o_zACFmLNnnBQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fimagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F160372137694%2Fmore-vietnam-au-please&m=1)


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/161392273048/does-jamie-ever-visit-claire-in-boston-in-the) on tumblr

They took three days to drive up I-81 to Boston.

On Monday morning, Claire called her advisor to tell him she’d miss the entire week of classes. Which, in the big scheme of things, wasn’t that much of an issue – she needed to process the data she’d collected in Dr. Beaton’s clinic by the end of the semester, but that was still six weeks away.

And there was no power on earth that would part her from Jamie now.

As she had made the necessary arrangements – sitting in bed, the Fraser plaid wrapped around her shoulders, sipping the strong black coffee Jamie had brewed for her – she watched him pack away clothes and books for the trip.

They didn’t know how long he would stay – only that they’d use the car trip to figure it out.

To figure *everything* out.

So quickly they had come back to each other – so quickly everything in their separate lives had to be merged.

But there was no fear that it wouldn’t be figured out – just confidence that it *would*.

On Monday afternoon, with their suitcases and a basket of food safely tucked away in the bed of Jamie’s battered pickup, she had kissed Ian and Jenny goodbye. Jamie made his farewells with Murtagh – the older man clasping his godson in a long embrace – and then they were rumbling down the gravel driveway, pausing at the gate to wave at the Murrays and Frasers still standing on the front porch of the big house.

And then Claire had flipped on the car radio, and they glided through the trees, Jamie’s right hand resting on her thigh, both of them quietly humming along to The Eagles:

Cause I got a peaceful easy feeling // And I know you won’t let me down…

They made it to the quiet, hazy mountains of Shenandoah National Park by dusk. Jamie parked the truck at one of the many scenic overlooks, and Claire slid over on the bench seat, resting her head on his shoulder, watching the last tendrils of sun sink below the horizon.

“I don’t know how we’ll make it work, Claire – but we will. I promise you.”

His thumb traced a mole at the top of her right arm, darting beneath her shirtsleeve for a caress.

“I know we will. We are neither of us whole, alone.”

He kissed the crown of her head. She wrapped her arms around his middle, hooking her thumbs in the loops of his jeans.

One mile over we’ll be there and we’ll see you // Ten true summers we’ll be there and laughing too…

“I don’t want to be half a person again, Claire,” he whispered, so softly. “I couldn’t bear it.”

“Hush,” she soothed, leaning up and quieting him with a kiss. “You won’t have to. We’ll get to Boston, figure out how long you’ll stay. I only have a little over a year left – that’s not terrible. Not when it took us so long to find each other again. And then we’ll go back to Lallybroch – for good.”

He brought her closer – a long, deep kiss.

“And we have to plan our church wedding,” he breathed against her lips. “I can’t wait to marry you again.”

Even in the half-dark, her smile was dazzling.

–

They slept in the cool, fresh air that night, soothed to sleep by the rustling trees, nestled under a pile of blankets in the back of the truck.

Sometime in the darkness, Jamie woke Claire and made love to her, slowly and tenderly, not speaking. She watched stars winking through the lattice of black branches overhead, and fell asleep again with his comforting weight still warm on top of her. Praying this wasn’t all a dream.

Overjoyed with the dawn to find that they were still together.

Celebrating with a wake-up kiss.

–

They passed through Maryland that morning, stopping for a steaming, mouth-watering bucket of crab by the side of the road. Jamie delighted in licking the Old Bay seasoning from her fingers.

Then through Harrisburg and Scranton, Pennsylvania. Forests. Coal country.

They listened to country western, and hymns, and rock, and whatever they could find on the radio.

Talked about Boston – and Boone – and what they would name their children.

Somewhere near Binghamton, New York that song came on. And Jamie wordlessly pulled over on the interstate, turned on his flashers, and seized Claire.

Shaking hands and unyielding belt buckles and a burst seam in Jamie’s jeans were no match for their sudden, desperate hunger to become one.

Outside in the cold distance a wildcat did prowl // Two riders were approaching // And the wind begins to howl…

Gasping for breath when it was over – quick, but not so quick that Jamie didn’t see to her needs – Claire insisted they find a place to stay for the night.

The Bonnie Motor Inn was run by a fellow veteran – he gave Jamie a 20% discount on a room that was small, and clean, and theirs.

They shared a bucket of fried chicken at the small diner down the block – then a long, restorative shower. And sleep, after giggling over Johnny Carson, ridiculously entwined on the twin mattress.

They made it to Boston by late afternoon on Wednesday, Jamie faithfully following Claire’s directions through a leafy residential neighborhood that didn’t quite match his mental image of where she would live.

But then they pulled into a driveway – and Jamie saw Dr. Joe Abernathy sweating over his lawnmower – and Claire threw open the door, racing across the garden to tackle him in a bear hug.

Jamie couldn’t hear them until he cut the engine –

“…still can’t believe it, Joe. I swear I must be living in some kind of fairy tale – ”

\- and saluted the man who had helped Claire save his life.

Joe wiped his sweaty brow on his sleeve, straightened, and returned the salute.

“Bout time you two wised up,” he smiled. “Come on – let’s see what Gail’s got cooking for dinner.”

 –

[The Eagles - Peaceful Easy Feeling](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DVcXIMkaJAFE&t=ZjljY2VhMDQyMGU3Yzk3NDVlNWY4YmQxOTgwMTkwOGIxZThlOTBlZCxIVUJ6b3AwVw%3D%3D&b=t%3A3P1iDiJS-o_zACFmLNnnBQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fimagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F161392273048%2Fdoes-jamie-ever-visit-claire-in-boston-in-the&m=1)

[Yes - Roundabout](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D-Tdu4uKSZ3M&t=YmJhM2QxNjAwMzI5NTBlN2E4NGQyZGJhZTQ5NWUzMGU2NmNlNDFkNixIVUJ6b3AwVw%3D%3D&b=t%3A3P1iDiJS-o_zACFmLNnnBQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fimagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F161392273048%2Fdoes-jamie-ever-visit-claire-in-boston-in-the&m=1)

[Jimi Hendrix - All Along The Watchtower ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DTLV4_xaYynY&t=MTkxZjU3ZjkzZGJhMDc5YTVmYWI1OTQwMWVlMmRkMWI5MTNkZWE0NSxIVUJ6b3AwVw%3D%3D&b=t%3A3P1iDiJS-o_zACFmLNnnBQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fimagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F161392273048%2Fdoes-jamie-ever-visit-claire-in-boston-in-the&m=1)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/163329949955/there-s-been-written-a-lot-of-jamie-pov-about-his) on tumblr

Jamie carefully balanced the tray as he ascended the stairs, bare fleet sliding along the worn wood boards.

Just past dawn on the Fourth of July – it would be a busy one at Lallybroch, yet again. Claire and Jenny Ian and Murtagh and Suzette and all the kids had all been up late, sweeping off the lawn and setting up chairs and tables for the barbeque that had become a cherished annual tradition.

For every year, the Fraser/Murrays of Fraser’s Ridge extended an open invitation to all veterans of all conflicts, to come together at their home on America’s birthday and celebrate service, and each other. And remember those who hadn’t made it home to celebrate.

Most of the veterans were local – Murtagh’s close-knit friends from when he stormed the beaches at Normandy; the few ‘Nam vets Jamie had gotten to know through his business dealings, selling Lallybroch’s milk and cheese and wool and produce to local markets; friends and family of Claire’s current and former patients at her neurology practice.

This year was especially poignant, as it was the first since the men and women who had helped push Saddam out of Kuwait would be here to celebrate.

Quietly down the hallway – past Brianna’s room. Aged sixteen, she was intelligent, vivacious, responsible – and drop-dead gorgeous. The younger guys would be flocking around her tonight.

Jamie sighed, then gently elbowed open the master bedroom door.

Claire was awake – she never slept long by herself, sensing his absence even in sleep. She blinked at him from against the headboard his grandfather had carved, hair all wild, the low neck of her sleep shirt slung to expose one bare shoulder. And smiled.

Eighteen years since a beaming Murtagh had walked her down the aisle at St. Bride’s Church, when she legally became the Fraser she had already been since they handfasted the year before. Twenty-three years since he first saw her, a circle of light amid a haze of confusion and pain, smiling down at him at Chu Lai.

His heart still stuttered to see her.

He set down the tray on the bedside table he’d made her for their anniversary, handed her the black coffee she craved each morning.

“I’ll need this today,” she yawned, gently scooting over for him to sit beside her. “Careful – we’ve got a visitor.”

Five-year-old William Fraser – their joyful surprise – snuffed against his mother’s lap and returned to sleep. Jamie reached over to ruffle his brown curls – so much like Claire’s.

“Is he all right?”

“He was so excited last night he had a hard time falling asleep – it’s the first barbeque he can *really* help with.”

Jamie bent to kiss Claire’s exposed shoulder. “Thank you for all you do for me. For us. I know it’s always a lot of work – ”

“Nonsense. You know I’m happy to do it. Proud to do it.” She sipped her coffee. Thoughtful. “It’s so important to everyone – to help them remember they are appreciated. That they have a home, a place to relax.”

He nodded, mind turning over the thousand small tasks still to be done before the guests arrived at noon –

“You do it because you don’t want them to be forgotten, don’t you?”

He turned to face her.

“You know me too well.”

“I know it grates on you how for so long, nobody wanted to talk about Viet Nam. To acknowledge what soldiers like you – ”

“Soldiers like *us*,” he corrected.

She twisted her lips. “Like *us* - what we experienced. What we survived – it was no less honorable than the guys in France or the Pacific or Korea.”

He sighed.

“I don’t want the kids coming back from Desert Storm to ever feel the same way.” His eyes were far, far away – remembering those times people had sneered at the “Vietnam Vet” bumper sticker on his pickup truck, and how hard it was for him to claim benefits from the VA, and how so many of the men he had commanded in Nam had fallen on hard times. “That – that people don’t appreciate them, and their service, and their sacrifice. Forget the politics.”

Claire set down her now-empty coffee cup, gently rolled their sleeping son off of her lap, and crawled onto her husband’s lap. Wrapped her legs around his waist. Holding him so, so tight.

He melted into her – full of so much.

“You do right, Jamie,” she whispered hotly in his ear. His fingers dug into her hips. “They won’t go through any of that, because of you.”

He swallowed, holding her close.

“If Brianna or William ever choose to serve, I – I want it to be better for them,” he rasped. “They need to know – ”

“Hush. They *do* know, love. Hush.”

Always so strong for her – for their son and daughter – for their family and employees and clients.

But they both knew that she was the strength for both of them.

“[When I look into your eyes, I can see a love restrained](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D8SbUC-UaAxE&t=MDIyYWY4YzRlNWRmZTY4ZGJlM2FiNDhhY2ViM2JlOGI1MGY2MTEzZix4ZmQ5YkdFZw%3D%3D&b=t%3A3P1iDiJS-o_zACFmLNnnBQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fimagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F163329949955%2Fthere-s-been-written-a-lot-of-jamie-pov-about-his&m=1),” she sang softly, quietly, just for him.

“But darling when I hold you, don’t you know I feel the same?”

He shifted to kiss her.

“*Mo graidh,*” he whispered against her lips.

##  _**—–FIN—–** _


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/165549374038/i-will-give-you-my-firstborn-if-you-could-do-a) on tumblr

“Bree! You got some mail!”

Six-year-old William Fraser theatrically slammed Lallybroch’s old, heavy front door, rattling the blue vases carefully arranged on the window ledge. For the past year he had delighted in trekking the half-mile gravel track connecting the Big House to the main road, emptying the giant mailbox, and bearing all the letters and packages and magazines for the four Frasers (not including Murtagh and Suzette, who had their own cabin and mailbox) and eight Murrays who lived cozily in the four-story house that great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandpa James Fraser had constructed himself more than two hundred years before.

Cousins Ian and Kitty scampered in from the parlor, where cousin Michael kept pounding away at an old song – something about boats in the sky – on the worn piano.

“Anything for us?”

William staggered under the weight of the mail. “Don’t know – let’s go into the dining room to find out.”

Ian and Kitty raced ahead, clearing one end of the long mahogany table – crafted (they were told) by great-great-great-grandfather Simon Fraser right after the War Between The States – and watched William spill dozens of envelopes onto the polished surface.

“Will?” There was Brianna – aged seventeen – rubbing a crick on the back of her neck. William knew Mama and Da were a bit worried for her these days – she spent *so* much time studying for that SAT test, so that she could get into a good college…

“Yes! Highlights!” Ian exclaimed, grabbing the brightly-colored magazine and dashing toward the sitting room, heedless of the envelopes that showered to the ground.

Kitty sighed as she bent to clean up Ian’s mess. William squinted at the pile. “Hi Bree – you got some more college envelopes and magazines.”

“Oh cool – do you know from where?”

Now she joined them at the table, but not before pulling her brother – much younger, and so beloved – close for a quick hug.

She felt him shrug against her. “I don’t know. It all looks the same.”

Footsteps echoed in the hallway from the study.

“William! Did you get the mail again?” Da breezed in, pencil over his ear, hair all mussed – evidence of deep thinking.

Brianna pulled away from her brother to tear into her pile of envelopes.

“I did!” William exclaimed, smiling as his father ruffled his dark curls.

“Thanks, buddy – you know how much we all appreciate it. Anything for me?”

“Bree got some more college stuff. Doesn’t look like anything fun for you.”

Kitty finally found what she had been looking for – the new kit of paper dolls in 18th-century clothing – and quietly retreated upstairs to share with her sisters.

Jamie pulled out a chair to sit while sifting through the pile, then pulled out another one for Brianna, already engrossed in her mail.

“What did you get today, love?” he asked gently.

“Some more course catalogues…informational packets…and a magazine,” she replied absently. “More stuff to read.”

“From where?” Ah – there it was, last month’s feed bill for the horses and sheep. A quick glance to William – now busy sorting mail by the recipient’s name – before returning his attention to his daughter. His miracle.

“Virginia Tech…MIT…Georgia Tech…Duke…”

Jamie lay a gentle hand on Brianna’s forearm – and her eyes snapped up to meet his. His own eyes looked back at him – and not for the first time, he was amazed at how much of himself he saw in her.

“You know you’ll get into everywhere you apply, right? You’re smart, and you work hard, and you’ll be successful.”

She pursed her lips – eyes wide – and nodded.

“Just enjoy this time. It’s so exciting – you’ll have so many choices in your life, and you’ll do so many great things with that mind of yours. Don’t let any of this intimidate you.”

“I know, Da.” Her voice was quiet – hesitant. But confident. “If you and Mama keep telling me, that must make it true.”

Then she blessed him with a smile – and his heart melted as much as it had that first time she had smiled at him when she was just a few weeks old.

A daughter nearly grown – where had all the time gone?

The side door slammed – which only meant one thing –

“Mama!” William raced toward the kitchen, abandoning his task.

“Hello, love! *Ciamar a tha thu?*” Jamie and Brianna shared a smile as Claire’s voice echoed through the house.

Jamie shook his head. “She’ll always have that accent when she speaks the Gaidhlig. Unlike you, and me, and Will, and the rest of our family – she didn’t grow up speaking it. And it’s so hard for your mouth to learn new sounds without it sounding terrible.”

William’s muffled exclamations to his mother in the Gaidhlig grew louder.

“I’m just grateful we can speak it, Da.” Brianna tidied her magazines into a neat pile on the table. “It’s like our secret language. And I know it’ll make me stand out on my college applications!”

He shook his head incredulously – clever girl. And then –

“Hello loves!” There she was, William hoisted on her hip like a wee monkey, smiling broadly at her redheads.

“Hi Mama! Look what came today!”

Dr. Claire Fraser strode around the table and settled into the chair Jamie pulled out for her – easing William onto her lap and bending for a quick kiss from her husband.

Brianna pushed the magazine from Duke toward her mother. “This one looks really cool – they have a great engineering program, but there are so many other things to study, too.”

“Raleigh – not too far. And yes it’s a fantastic school.”

William settled against her shoulder – just enjoying being held by his mother – and Jamie opened the magazine on the tabletop, flanked by his women.

“Let’s see…table of contents…alumni in the news…recent publications by professors…here’s a new building going up…”

Absently he thumbed through the pages one by one –

And then Claire’s hand darted out, slamming to the table.

William – startled out of his hazy half-sleep – gasped in surprise.

Brianna watched her mother’s hand lay flat on the page, then slowly draw her fingers inward to clench into a fist.

“Mama?” So confused.

Then Claire gently scooted William to Jamie’s lap, stood, and quietly left the dining room.

“Mama!” Brianna called. “What’s wrong? What is going on?”

Panicked, she turned to her father. To see his face almost white with shock.

“Da? You’re scaring me – what is it?”

Only then did she turn her attention to the page. A small article, just a few paragraphs, in the “Alumni News” section. Something about a substantial donation to the school, to endow a program in the history department. Made by someone in California. Frank Randall, class of ’62. And there was even a picture of him – looking straight into the camera, not smiling, ensconced in a stuffy office.

“Da?”

Jamie pursed his lips. “Can you mind William? I need to talk to your Mama. Wait here.”

Wordlessly she opened her arms, and William snuggled against her, and she watched her father stride out of the dining room. Heading upstairs, to the master bedroom.

With her free hand she pulled the magazine closer, squinting at the photograph of this man who ran a real estate business in northern California. Had amassed a fortune, and given much of it to the school. Something about having no children of his own, and wanting others to benefit from his labors.

Gently she stroked William’s back, soothing.

Waiting, and thinking, and worrying, until Mama and Da came back into the room, holding hands.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/165798723522/i-wonder-what-if-frank-and-laoghaire-have-met) on tumblr

Jamie gently shut the door to their bedroom, leaning against the wood worn shiny with use and age, watching Claire struggle to compose herself.

It was ten feet from the door to their bed – but felt like two hundred years.

Silence ringing in his ears. Thousands of emotions skittering across her face. Flashes of memory across his eyes.

One truth underpinning it all.

“I love you, Claire,” he whispered.

Then she reached out a shaking hand, and he rushed to take it. To caress it. To clasp it to his heart. Still waiting for her to speak. Giving her space.

Her clammy hand trembled in his. But her grip was firm.

“*‘S tu smior de mo chnàimh,* she rasped.

Jamie kissed the back of her hand, and then knelt before her. Eyes locked on her. Always on her.

“*Na mo chuislean ‘s tu ‘n fhuil,*” he replied. “Always.”

Her eyes shone with tears.

Jamie’s free hand rested on her knee. Thumb gently tracing the smooth skin.

“I remember the first time you did that,” she whispered – eyes still on him, but seeing something very far away.

“I do too. You know I do.”

“I didn’t know what to think – my heart was so confused…”

“I love you, *a nighean donn,*” he interrupted, squeezing her hand. “I have loved you from the moment I saw you, I will love you ’til time itself is done, and so long as you are by my side, I am well pleased with the world.”

Now she sank to her knees, the carpet scratching at her bare skin, and wrapped her arms and legs around the man who was her home.

He sat back a bit to balance her weight – then pressed her face into his neck – then stroked her back gently.

“I am grateful to him every day – for his callousness gave me a second chance with you, Claire. I can begrudge how terribly he treated you, but I can’t be angry that his loss is my gain. *Our* gain.”

Then she pulled back a bit, and quickly leaned in for a long, slow kiss.

“I wish you could take me to bed now – I need to…to *claim* you, Jamie.” There she was – there was the steel that had driven her to find him, to make a life and career for herself, to bravely bring their children into the world in this very room, to keep the Fraser tradition alive.

He kissed her again, smiling. “That’s for tonight, love – I want you to show me that you’re mine. And I can’t wait for me to show you that I’m yours.”

She kissed him again. Then sighed. “We need to tell them.”

He nodded. “I know. I’ll be there with you.”

She swallowed, and stood, and offered her hand to help him to his feet.

He gripped it, and kissed the inside of her wrist, and her stuttering heart calmed.

–

Brianna looked back and forth between her parents, watching their body language, processing her mother’s words.

Da had remained silent, but as always he was right there with Mama – supporting her. Loving her.

“…understand why I never told you before. You weren’t old enough to understand – and it’s all water under the bridge. Da and I have moved on from it.”

Brianna pursed her lips, thinking. “Da, did you ever meet him?”

“No, I never did. Never even saw a picture of him until today.”

She watched Da’s thumb trace the back of Mama’s hand. Aromas – beef stew, roasted vegetables – wafted in from the kitchen together with Auntie Jenny’s muffled voice, supervising the cooking.

“I…I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of, Mama. It was a long time ago. And – and it sounds like you weren’t happy with him.”

“I thought I was. But with your Da, I know what true happiness is.”

“But the rest is still all true, right? How you met in Viet Nam, and lost touch, and how you came here to the Ridge and found Da again?”

“Yes. All of it, thank God.” Da smiled, just so slightly. “Happiest day of my life, when she surprised me in the barn – except for the days you and Will were born, of course.”

“Even happier than your wedding?” Brianna teased.

“Yes. Because once she was here with me, we both knew.”

Brianna gently lay her sleeping brother into the empty chair beside her, then stood to envelop her mother in a hug.

It went on for a long time.

“I love you, Mama,” she whispered. “And I won’t go to Duke. I don’t ever want you to think of him again.”

Claire pulled back. “Oh, don’t shut that door on my account, love. I wouldn’t want you to – ”

“I insist. There are *so* many other options for me – right, Da?”

His smile broadened. “Right.”

Brianna pushed the magazine – still open to the page with Frank Randal’s picture – across the table to her mother. “Come on, Mom. Let’s get rid of it.”

Finally Claire smiled. She ripped out the page with Frank’s picture and crumpled it into a ball.

“Feel better?” Jamie teased.

“I do, actually. Now what?”

Brianna stood. “Let’s go outside and burn it. Come on – we should have enough time before dinner.”

Claire’s eyebrows raised. “Where did this ruthless streak suddenly come from, Bree?”

Jamie stood and bent to pick up William.

“From my mother, of course,” Brianna replied, holding out one hand. “She taught me to do anything for the ones I love.”

Claire took her daughter’s hand, heart so full with pride and love. And made sure to stop by the kitchen for a box of matches on their way out.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/173387388114/could-you-do-a-vietnam-au-where-claire-and-jamie) on tumblr

  
                                                         

 

“Look, Mama – it’s me!”

Six-year-old Brianna Fraser pointed at the shiny black surface, her reflection broken by the rows upon rows of names interspersed with crosses and small diamonds.

Dr. Claire Fraser knelt beside her daughter, careful of the dozens of people quietly, reverently searching for names, pausing before names, praying and crying before names.

“Here.” Taking Brianna’s small hand in her own, she brought their joined hands to the sacred surface. “Can you read any of the names, love?”

Brianna stepped a bit closer, squinting in the bright sun. Tracing the names with tiny fingers.

“Al…ex…Alex…Alexander Mac…Greg…gor…MacGregor.”

“Perfect.” Claire settled Brianna’s wide-brimmed hat more snugly on her forehead, protecting her from the unforgiving July sun. It was warmer here in Washington than at their home in the mountains of North Carolina – and almost unbearably humid.

Claire hadn’t experienced such weather since her time in Viet Nam – no wonder those memories had all flooded back, as soon as they made that turn on I-95 and gasped as the monuments came into view for the first time (Jamie and Claire from the front seat, Brianna from her booster seat in the rear of the pickup). Jamie had had the idea to drive up for the 4th of July weekend – Brianna was old enough to remember the trip, Claire was able to take time off from the surgery practice, and Jamie had wanted to visit the memorial wall that had opened the previous autumn.

As the years passed – and especially with Claire’s love and support – the insomnia that had plagued him for more than three years following his return from Viet Nam had eventually subsided. Not that there wasn’t the odd night when Claire woke to cool sheets on the other side of the bed and Jamie’s paces in the hallway – she knew as well as anyone that the trauma he had endured before their fateful meeting at Chu Lai, together with the heartbreak he had endured during their agonizing years apart, had left deep emotional wounds that would take a lifetime to truly heal.

Just as she had found purpose in being Brianna’s mother, and Jamie’s wife, and Jenny and Ian’s sister, and Murtagh and Suzette’s niece – and of course in the clinical practice, and the life-changing brain surgeries she performed – helping those who had been cruelly robbed of their speech or sight or motor skills to regain some if not all that they had lost – Jamie had his purpose in his farm and his family. Growing things. Keeping the Fraser traditions alive. Honoring the sacrifices of his ancestors, who had built Lallybroch almost two hundred years ago.

And in honoring the memory of the friends he had lost in Viet Nam. Supporting those, like him, who had struggled when they returned home. Including the many who, regrettably, were still struggling, almost a decade after the war had ended.

Claire never begrudged the late nights he spent at the Legion Hall, or the often unannounced dinner guests who were lonely for friendly company and a home-cooked meal, or the Saturday mornings he volunteered at the nearest VA hospital. In Claire he had flourished; in her he had healed. It was his duty to pay that forward – to find the broken men that, had circumstances been different, he would have become. To support them, help them to help themselves.

So this wall – this new memorial – was something he had followed quite fervently in the newspapers. Some of his fellow veterans had criticized the design – too modern. Too weird. No statues, just two angular surfaces.

But he had reserved judgment until seeing it in person – proudly wearing his “VIETNAM VETERANS OF AMERICA” hat, the olive drab vest Murtagh had given him for his birthday earlier in the year, and the service ribbons for the Bronze Star and Purple Heart that his uncle Dougal had awarded at Chu Lai, with Claire at his side, fourteen years earlier. Jamie knew – as did Claire – that wearing such ribbons on civilian clothing wasn’t correct military protocol. But they also knew that he had earned the right to do whatever he wished – to silently share with those here at the wall today just how much he had sacrificed. Just how close he had become to having his own name etched on the wall they all peered at so fervently.

Now Jamie crouched down on Brianna’s other side, fingers trailing hers as they traced the names of those who had never come home.

“Bree? Can you help me with something?”

“Sure!” she exclaimed, so happy to just be with her Da.

“And I’ll need your Mama’s help too – if she’s able?”

Claire’s eyes met Jamie’s above Brianna’s hat.

“She’s always able,” was the quiet reply.

Jamie nodded sharply, quickly. Then unfurled the length of tracing paper he had picked up at the entrance to the memorial. He carefully settled it over one of the names, holding the left side. Claire reached to hold down the right side.

With his free hand, Jamie pulled a charcoal stick out of a vest pocket. “Can you help us with the rubbing, Bree?”

“OK!” She took the stick and gently rubbed it across the name forever etched in stone.

It took just about a minute. Then –

“Bree? Can you read that name for us?”

She wiped her grubby hand on her jeans, lips pursed.

“W…Will…Willie…Mac…MacKen…MacKenzie. Willie MacKenzie.”

She handed the stub of charcoal back to Jamie. “Did you know him?”

Jamie pocketed the charcoal and carefully peeled the paper from the stone wall, cradling it between his two big, work-roughened hands.

“He was one of my men. One of the best.”

Claire reached out to settle her arm on Jamie’s shoulder – the silent support he never needed to ask for.

Sensing her Da was sad, Brianna snuggled under Jamie’s chin. His eyes met Claire’s. Full of so much.

“I’m sorry, Da.”

Jamie pushed back his daughter’s sun hat to kiss her small, sweaty brow. Claire squeezed his shoulder, right above the tangled web of scars on his back. The scars he had earned in the unsuccessful attempt to save Willie MacKenzie’s life.

“Thank you, *mo nighean ruaidh.* But you know what – in a strange way, if it hadn’t been for him, I likely would never have met your Mama. And *you* wouldn’t even be here.”

Brianna skeptically raised her small ruddy brows. “That’s silly. You’re meant to be together.”

She didn’t know the full story, of course – one day she would. But for today, all Claire could do was join Jamie in holding their daughter close, looking at Willie’s name, surrounded by dozens of mourners, all with pieces of their hearts lost across the ocean and found in the silent letters, glowing against the black stone.


End file.
